Spiral
by Tallera
Summary: **CHAPTER 9 UP (FINALLY)!!!!!** M/A, L/A. How season 2 ought to have gone, post-"HG." Who knows...might've kept the show on the air. :-\
1. Prologue - Sympathetic Character

Author's Note: 

I'm dedicating this story to the best friend the world could ever have blessed me with. This one's for you, Denise—for ignoring me completely when I told you that I didn't need another TV show to obsess over. I tried to cater to your M/L taste, as much as my M/A heart would let me….don't hate me if it came out incorporating a bit of both. Love always!!! 

Author's Note II: 

This story has changed slightly since I first posted in. It's now the prologue to an extended series I plan to write. I have the series planned from start to finish, but I make no promises about how long it may take me to actually write it all. Obviously, the more raving reviews I get, the more incentive I have to finish it quickly… ;-) 

I'm not sure that Denise would appreciate it if I dedicated the full series to her, since I finally decided it couldn't remain M/L-friendly. In fact, rabid M/L 'shippers would probably be well-advised to steer clear of this story…you're not gonna like where it eventually goes. As the series progresses, it will be partly Max/Alec, partly Logan/Asha. With apologies to those who wanted more M/L from me, I've gotta go where my heart lies. So, Denise, this one's still for you—the rest of it is for me. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

{{Spiral}} 

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**Prologue - Sympathetic Character**__

_I have as much rage as you have_   
_I have as much pain as you do_   
_I've lived as much hell as you have_   
_and I've kept mine bubbling under for you___

_you were my keeper_   
_you were my anchor_   
_you were my family_

—@—@—@—@—@— 

"Love sucks." 

If he'd expected to hear bitterness in her tone, he would've been disappointed. Her voice was matter-of-fact, colored by only the gentlest shades of defeat. 

It hurt Alec's heart to hear. 

_Thereby possibly proving its existence…_ An inner voice sniped pointedly at him. Oddly enough, the voice sounded like Max's. Some utterly masochistic part of his genetically-enhanced brain had apparently awarded her the role of his Conscience. 

Alec had to fight down a laugh at a sudden vision of a small, green cricket in a top hat and tails, speaking with Max's voice and kicking some serious ass in post-apocalyptic Seattle. _Watching too much TV again, Alec…_

That time, he actually found himself glancing over at her out of the corner of his eye, just to make sure she wasn't messing with his head…practicing ventriloquism or something. He wouldn't put it past her. 

But she was just sitting there, staring out over the intermittent lights of the city under its palpable cloak of cloud and night. Manticore's years of training had taught all of the X-series transgenics the habit of perfect posture…but somehow, Max's lithe figure conveyed the appearance of a depressed slouch, despite her ramrod-straight spine. The syrupy black of the city's night-struck corpse was nothing compared to the darkness and pain swimming in her eyes. 

He knew she'd been to see Logan. Joshua had described her reaction to the necklace with the Familiars' symbol on it, and it didn't take someone like Brain to put the pieces together and figure out where she'd run off to in such a rush. The pieces that would tell him what had happened at Logan's apartment to drive her up here…well, those were still missing from Alec's little puzzle. 

He contemplated the girl at his side again. She seemed to have imparted the sum total of the day's accumulated wisdom in the nice, neat package of those two words, and showed no inclination to speak any more… 

There it was again…that air of _defeat_ about her. It was…unsettling, to say the least. 

In all the time Alec had known Max, he was pretty sure he'd witnessed her entire spectrum of emotion—from 'royally pissed off,' all the way through 'anguished,' to 'frighteningly gentle' and caring. But never once had he seen her give up. _Ever_. 

A part of him—a part _not_ speaking with Max's voice—scoffed cynically that this was a perfect example of why it was a better idea to keep the world at arm's length. _Don't let anybody get too close,_ it reminded him,_ or somebody will end up hurt._ But that didn't quite track, now did it? If he really wanted to live like that, then why was he perched seven hundred feet in the air in the dead of the night, checking on the mental state of a girl who'd turned his entire life upside down? 

And why was he feeling so damned _guilty_? 

That was the worst of it….to see that lost, defeated expression on Max's face, and feel like some part of it was all his fault. What had possessed him to put on that little show for Logan, in front of her apartment building? 

_Oh, you know perfectly well…_

Damn conscience. 

He just couldn't pass up the chance to throw something back in Logan's face, could he. The almighty Eyes Only, champion of the downtrodden and helper of the hopeless everywhere, had never made a secret of the fact that he didn't care for Alec. And unlike Max, Logan didn't carry traumatic memories of Ben around as an excuse. 

Yeah, alright…so Alec had sort of been on the side of devils during the whole "kill Logan with the virus" episode. But hadn't he helped out enough since then to make up for it, at least a little? Still, the guy never seemed to cut him any slack. 

So the troubled X5 had taken advantage of the moment. Not only to suggest that he was on his way to stealing away Logan's girl—_although if the guy had any brains, he should've seen right through that in a microsecond_—but also to twist the knife a bit. After all, even if Logan had been on speaking terms with Max…he still couldn't do what Alec had. Couldn't casually drape an arm over the her narrow shoulders, or speak closely into her ear in low, sexy tones, or tap her arm in a gesture of farewell. 

It had been cruel, and Alec was more than a little disturbed to discover that he was capable of purposefully stooping to such cruelty. 

It smacked of Ben, and his insanity… 

He wanted to apologize. He wanted to tell Max that he'd only done it because he knew Logan was standing there…that the whole mess was his fault, and that he'd do anything to make it up to her. But he was cursed to wear the mask—the face not quite his own, that kept people at a distance with its "devil-may-care" attitude and cocky wisecracks. It was a useful disguise, most of the time—protection from the World—but it could also be a prison. The words he wanted to say to the girl at his side were too big, and the mask too solid to let them escape. 

So instead, he decided on some smaller, less difficult words. He had a nonchalant, "You okay?" on the tip of his tongue, when she beat him to the punch. 

"Alec, I'm sorry…" She didn't turn to look at him, and remained staring sightlessly out over the dim hulk of the skyline…but somehow her attention had shifted in his direction. 

He eyed her askance, not quite believing that this was the real Max. The real Max didn't apologize—and _especially_ not to him. She rolled her eyes…she threatened…she threw death-glares…she kicked ass and took names. She _never_ apologized. 

Having no clue how to respond, Alec fell back on his trademark sarcasm. "Well, _this_ is new…you saying 'sorry' to me, instead of the other way around? Gee, Maxie, you feelin' alright?" 

She went on as if she hadn't heard him. "I did something really awful tonight…I don't know what made me do it. But I'm sorry." 

In the face of her utterly serious mien, all his flippancy vanished. "What is it, Max?" His voice grew serious, and shadowed by concern. 

She turned her pain-filled eyes toward him for the first time. "If I were you, I'd stay out of Logan's way for a while." 

Alec was now utterly bewildered. "Okay, you lost me a couple of sectors back. What happened, and why would Logan not want to see me? I mean, there's no reason for him to hate me any more than he already—" He stopped very suddenly, not even daring to breathe. 

It was remarkable, really, how long a startled and suddenly terrified X5 could go without taking a breath. 

_I must be channeling Brain or something. It all makes sense now._ "Logan…he thinks…and you let him…" He couldn't put the words together; the sentences just seemed to evaporate, crushed under the massive weight of his shock and disbelief. He took a deep breath. "Tell me how it happened, Max." 

If it was possible, her shoulders seemed to slump even further as she gave in to his request. "When you left my apartment this morning, Logan was there…he saw you…" Her spine still stiff and straight, she described the whole scene in Logan's apartment. She spared no painful details, and edited nothing from her confession. 

"…And then I walked out…I just left him there, staring at the spot where I was standing, thinking that I…you…" A good ten minutes after she first started speaking, Max's voice finally broke, and she bit her lip to keep the tears from flowing. She'd cried too many tears already. They were an expensive luxury, a self-indulgence—and she had been selfish enough for one night. 

It took Alec several long moments to recover the use of his brain. He stared at Max, but all he could see was the expression on Rachel's face, as he told her the hard truth—_you were my job…_—and watched her run from him. He could envision the same look in Logan's eyes—those Eyes that offered hope and truth to thousands across the city, suddenly dimmed and extinguished by the cruel claws and fangs of a love betrayed, now chilled and twisted into a pain beyond measure…. 

After a long silence, Max saved him from asking the "why" that could not squeeze past the tightness in his throat, by answering anyway. 

"Right then, all I could think was, I would never be able to do this, if it was just me…I'd never be strong enough to stay away from him for good. So when he asked…it was easier to just let him think that we…" She looked down at her bent knees. "That way, he could hate me, and it wouldn't hurt as much." She swallowed convulsively. "And he wouldn't want to see me, so I wouldn't have to worry about giving in…" 

Alec looked away from her, out over the skyline again. He heard her breath shudder in her throat as she wound down from her long monologue. 

"But now…now I think maybe it hurts worse, this way…and I wish I hadn't…and I'm so sorry, Alec—just when you and I could be in the same room without fighting…" 

She buried her face in her hands as the forbidden tears finally escaped. "God, Alec, I miss him so much…and I can't see anything but the look on his face…like I'd slit open his lungs with a knife and he couldn't hold on to any air…" Her words were finally swallowed by the sobs wracking her small body. 

There were tears on Alec's cheeks, as well. Tears for Max…for Logan…for Joshua and his blind Annie…for Asha…for himself and his part in that whole, sorry mess of a day. He reached out one hand as if to pat Max comfortingly on the back…then stopped. The hand hovered in mid-air for a moment before dropping back onto his bent knees. 

_I can't do this…not again_. 

He refused to examine that thought too closely. He didn't want to know what mistake it was, exactly, that he couldn't permit himself to repeat. Whether it was betraying Logan, by touching Max when the other man could not, or betraying another girl he cared about, by getting too involved in her life… 

No more emotional entanglements. 

No more betrayals. 

No more… 

_I can't…_

He scrambled frantically to his feet, as though some small, pesky creature had sunk a mouthful of tiny fangs into his ass. He paced back and forth for a long moment, two or three heedless steps at a time, before turning back determinedly to Max, who was drying her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt. In the back of his mind, Alec registered the fact that she looked remarkably like a cat grooming its face. 

"You have to tell him the truth." 

Max turned to gaze up at him like a Manticore escapee suddenly caught in the beams of a bank of floodlights. "Wh-what? No—I can't see him again! He…he must hate me…" 

"C'mon, this is Logan we're talking about, right? He's no more capable of hating you than I am of taking up knitting as a full-time job," Alec scoffed. Then he took in the wild, frightened look in her eyes, and softened his attitude slightly. "Look…your insinuation is, uh, flattering, I guess, but really, Max…you know you're not going to feel right about any of this until Logan knows the truth. It doesn't have to change your original decision…but after all that you two have been through together, doesn't he at least deserve to know the truth?" 

Her eyes were still moving too fast. She looked like a cornered rabbit, that can only watch and wait as the wolves close in. "But…I can't…" 

"You said it yourself, Max," he reminded her gently. "It'll hurt him less to find out the truth, than to go on believing a lie…" 

He watched her turn that over in her head. She grew very still and silent for a long, long moment. Neither X5 dared to breathe, waiting to see what the other would do next. 

Finally, she let out a painful sigh that seemed to go on forever, and began to breathe again. She used her rather damp sleeve to roughly scrub the last few tears from her cheeks, and stood up in a single, liquid motion. She threw a last, longing look at the grey cityscape before turning to face him. 

"You're right." 

Her words were low and gruff. If he hadn't been watching her face as she spoke, he might have missed them entirely. 

He nodded in approval at her decision. "Go now," he said gently. He knew that if she put off her confession to Logan, she would find a way talk herself out of it. 

She nodded in reply. 

He watched her as she steeled herself for the task ahead, and began to walk back up the sloping metal toward the Space Needle's central cylinder, and the route down into the filth and populace of the streets. 

He never expected her path to veer in his direction. Nor did he expect the lithe arms that slipped around his shoulders, or the soft cheek that pressed against his neck for a moment. Her words were a mere whisper, carried on the wings of the wind that never stopped blowing at that great height above the earth. 

She sighed against his shoulder. "You're a good man, Alec…and a better brother than Ben could ever be. Thank you…" 

And then she was gone, slipping into the central disc of the Needle and vanishing like a wraith in a fog. The wind felt suddenly colder, in the places where she had touched him, and Alec closed his eyes tightly—whether to help him forget, or always remember, he couldn't be sure. 

He waited until he was sure she was long gone, before taking a last look at the greying city hundreds of feet beneath him. He felt oddly apprehensive about turning his back on it, as if it were a crouching Nomly, that might strike at him in a moment of inattention. He was loathe to descend back into its foreboding grip. He could even imagine, in a moment of fancy, that the city resented those few, privileged souls such as himself, who could escape its feral clutches, even for a few moments, by ascending to the Highest Place and gazing down upon the lesser beings like gods from mighty Olympus. 

Up here, they could be free. Nothing to fear but the fall, nothing to fight but the wind. Nothing to restrain any one who found that the World could no longer hold him, and chose to fly. 

In the High Place, there was distance. 

With a sigh, Alec turned his back on the World and climbed back into the center of the Needle, but avoided the descendin stairway in favor of circling the upper platforms. 

As he wandered idly through corridors of twisted metal strewn with the tattered debris of a world gone mad, the memory of her breath still fresh upon the skin of his neck, he tried to remind himself that it was better this way. 

No entanglements. 

—@—@—@—@—@— 

Coming soon!!!!!!! 

Chapter 1 - Flinch 


	2. Chapter 1 - Flinch

Author's Note - This will essentially be a songfic series—but don't worry, there is an actual plot! ;-) I got the idea while listening to Alanis Morissette's new album, "Under Rug Swept." All the lyrics included are by Alanis, and most are from that album—although I have done quite a bit of judicious editing to make the lyrics fit the chapters of the story better. 

This is going to be a fairly long series, and will eventually be Max/Alec and Logan/Asha. The more you review, the more incentive to write! ;-) 

And I'm only gonna say this once, so pay attention: if there's anyone out there who DOESN'T know that I don't own these characters, that person needs his or her head examined with a sledgehammer. 'Nuff said.   
  
  


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{{Spiral}} 

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**Chapter 1 - Flinch**   


_what's it been—over a decade?_   
_it still smarts like it was four minutes ago_   
_we only influenced each other totally_   
_we only bruised each other even more so_

_how long can a girl be shackled to you?_   
_how long before my dignity is reclaimed?_   
_how long can a girl be haunted by you?_   
_soon I'll grow up, and I won't even flinch at your name…_   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  


Most nights, all it took was the growl of her beloved Ninja between her knees to soothe most of Max's worries. Sleepless nights, Manticore goons, romantic angst…no matter how hard her life sucked at any given moment, the bike was almost always a quick fix. There was just something about screaming down the streets of Seattle on her baby…it was a sure-fire, tried-and-true way to wipe away any and all unhappy thoughts, at least for a while. 

Not tonight. 

_I don't know if I can do this… What must he think of me? It's not like this really changes anything. And who's to say he'll even let me in?_

That thought finally penetrated her anxious mood, forcing her generous lips into a phantom smile. _'Cuz, of course, I'm just **so** in the habit of waiting to be invited in…_

Max sighed, and sank back into the suffocating pool of angst in which she seemed to spend most of her waking hours. On a conscious level, she knew that confessing the truth to Logan was the right thing to do. But that didn't stop the unconscious levels of her mind from panicking at the thought. 

_Everything used to be so clear…Logan and I were meant to be—life was as simple as that. Nothing could ever come between us— virus, no funky DNA, and **especially** no cranky covert government organizations hell-bent on making my life miserable…_

_How did we get here? When did everything start to go so wrong?_

But even as she wondered, she already knew the answer… 

Taking a corner just a bit faster than was probably wise, Max gunned the engine and tore down the damp street as though all of White's Familiars were on her heels…as though she could outrun her own tortured thoughts with just a little more speed. 

Of all the trials she and Logan had gone through, all the bad guys they'd beaten and all the obstacles they'd faced, the ultimate irony was that it wasn't really the virus that had beaten them. It was the cure. 

_That damned twelve-hour cure…_

For the first few months after her second escape from Manticore, it hadn't been terribly difficult for her and Logan to keep up hope of finding a way around the virus. Even when the micro-explosive attached to Alec's brain stem had snatched away their best chance—_and Logan's five grand_—the discovery of Sandeman's former home had indeed given them, as Joshua said, a reason "to have hopes up." She had never _completely_ lost sight of the idea that one day, they would beat the "virus bitch," and be together in the very literal sense. 'Max and Logan getting busy'—that was always the plan. 

Until they'd finally found a cure. 

_It's like that old saying…be careful what you wish for…_

Even months later, that single, stolen night was a livid bruise on her memory…ugly and painful to the touch. She had lived countless nights since that one, and each of them had passed with slow precision, each reluctant second falling atop those before, an endless parade of moments ambling single-file toward eternity…all taunting her with their resemblance to those few brief hours they'd wasted… 

She'd had many long, dark nights to think about it, and in all that sleepless time, she'd come to a single conclusion. 

She was cursed.   


~*~*~*~*~*~ 

_Director Renfro spoke almost conversationally, as if she hadn't subjected the young woman next at her side to some of the cruelest physical and psychological tortures the creative minds at Manticore could devise, just a few short weeks earlier. "Your brother Zack," she said, indicating the glassed-off operating theatre revealed before them. "He's been so useful to us—his liver and kidneys went to an X5 wounded on a mission…his heart, of course, as you know, went to you."_

_Max stood, envisioning the tall, proud soldier she used to idolize…the big brother who would always take care of her… The pain she felt at seeing him so humbled, so dependent upon unfeeling equipment to keep him alive, was almost physical. For a moment, she felt as if she might throw up, or cry._

_But the director was still talking. "…wanted to give you a chance to say goodbye. He's being moved to another facility—we have some very interesting plans for him." Her manner promised that those 'interesting plans' would involve new lows of pain and humiliation for the helpless X5. "One thing that is for certain, though…is that you are the reason he is there," the older woman finished, her voice maliciously gentle._

_Before Max's anguished gaze, the metal panels slid shut once more, cutting her off from the hideous mockery Manticore had made of her brother._

_But Renfro was relentless in her assault, battering away at all of Max's prized barriers. "Don't you see, 452? You're **poison**. You destroy everyone that you love." She held up autopsy photographs—graphic evidence of the lives that had been extinguished, the priceless personalities snuffed out like candles before a raging flood. "Zack…your brother Ben…your sister Tinga…" And as if those casualties weren't enough, the bleached-blonde went on to twist the knife. "…and him—'Eyes Only.'"_

_At Max's look of surprise, Renfro went on. "Now, I know that you've had some kind of relationship with him, and I know that you're hanging onto the idea that you're gonna see him again…but that's not gonna happen. He thinks you're **dead**…" She sighed heavily, and when she continued, her voice was seasoned with a dash of frustration. "…Which is why he's causing so much trouble for us. So we're gonna find him."_

_Putting on a brave front, X5-452 contradicted the Director's direct statement. "You'll never find him." There was more certainty in her tone than in her heart, where a tiny seed of fear was planted, and began to bloom._

_But Renfro went on as if the dark-haired girl hadn't spoken. "…and we're gonna kill him. You'll have nothing left." A cold light grew in the blonde woman's eyes as she leaned toward the X5, speaking in quiet, deadly tones. "And then, 452…you will be mine…"_

~*~*~*~*~*~   


It had all been true—every word. She was a disease, infecting everyone she cared about with her slow, deadly presence, forever dooming herself to a life of sorrow and solitude. By fate, by her hodge-podge DNA, by her unholy upbringing, by the world that could not accept her…by all the little scars bestowed by a life lived always on the run, always in fear and distrust. Scars upon scars upon scars, finally hardening into a single, seamless suit of armor that she had never consciously put on, and so could not remember how to get out of. 

_It's not his fault…he tried to show me, but I was so scared…he was so close—too close—and I panicked…_

In those dark, sleepless months, the events of that one, precious hour had played themselves out time and time again, on the black velvet tapestry of her bedroom wall. Her nervousness…his shock…the first tentative touch…his eagerness…her hesitation. 

Her fear. 

Her sudden, insane longing for the smallest taste of a plain, old, everyday kind of life—where love between soul-mates wasn't limited to brief, disinfected moments of passion, but could be savored over lingering wineglasses and slow, shuffling dances. A life where compatibility between a man and a woman was determined by something other than genetics. A life where twelve hours could last as long as forever… 

_Truth now, Max. It was really just fear, wasn't it._

She slowed as she came to the short line of vehicles waiting at the checkpoint to cross into Sector 9. She flashed her pass disinterestedly at the uniform waiting by the gate. "Jam Pony messenger," she clarified, responding to his suspicious look. He rolled his eyes and waved her through the gap in the chain-link fence. One more barrier between her and Logan fell away. 

That was always the problem, wasn't it? Obstacles, keeping the two of them from getting too close. 

Always too many, or not enough. 

_I should've realized back when we thought the ex-Manticore lab rat was gonna come through with a cure,_ Max mused as she kicked the Ninja into a higher gear.   


~*~*~*~*~*~ 

_"What's up, boo?"_

_Max looked up at Original Cindy to find her eyes widening *just* so, in the way she had, that said, 'Anybody been causin' you grief is gonna be hearin' from Original Cindy before this night is out.' It also said that she wouldn't take "nothing" for an answer._

_Max gave in gracefully to the inevitable. "Logan found an ex-Manticore tech thinks he can cure the virus." The words escaped on the wings of a sigh._

_OC quirked an eyebrow full of attitude at her. "When you gonna let your face in on the good news?"_

_That prompted another sigh. "I don't know." Max struggled to put a finger on her misgivings. "I'm starting to think things between me and Logan are…never gonna…"_

~*~*~*~*~*~   


She had been heartsick when Alec's idiot games with White had forced her to give up on their best chance for a cure. But really, what else could she have done? Was the ability to hold Logan's hand worth a human life in trade? Well, _mostly_ human, anyway. As much as he got on her nerves, reminded her of past bruises, ghosts she tried to ignore, memories she'd rather bury…she couldn't let him die. 

_Not again…_

_I couldn't do it…watch the light go out of those eyes, like a candle-flame snuffed by a teardrop…knowing that it was my fault. That if I'd done more, I could've stopped it… I couldn't go through that again._

So she'd made her choice. Saved Alec, and sentenced her relationship with Logan to another undefined term in limbo. A devastating decision. 

But even as she moped, wondering aloud how she would break the news to Logan…a very small, traitorous corner of her mind had breathed a tiny sigh of relief. The virus still plagued her—the barrier remained intact. 

She slowed the motorcycle as she came within a few blocks of Logan's building. Each street corner she passed was another barrier… 

Suddenly the bike beneath her was no longer a liberating distraction, but an elemental force beyond her control, forcing her forward into a maelstrom of fear and uncertainty when her entire being screamed for retreat into solitude. She watched the distance between herself and Logan diminish, and fought the rising tide of panic foaming in her throat. 

_Dammit! Get ahold of yourself, girl! You took on all of Manticore and never batted an eyelash—can it be so hard to sit down and have an honest talk with one man?!? And a **crippled** one at that…not much of a threat…_

_…my fault…my fault…_   


~*~*~*~*~*~ 

_"Don't you see, 452? You're poison…"_

_ "Sometimes I think maybe we're just not meant to be…"_

_ "I want this story to have a happy ending…"_

_ "Why do I feel like I'm kissing you good-bye…"_

_"We don't belong with them…we're a danger to them…"_

~*~*~*~*~*~   


All the voices, all the memories came crashing together inside her bruised mind, all shrieking aloud in a single moment of utter cacophony, clashing and blending into a single, screaming dissonance until all she could hear was the whisper of a single thought… 

_It will never be the right time._

She brought the Ninja to a sudden halt, tires screeching slightly in protest. Leaning forward to rest her forehead on the handlebars, she drew in deep, shuddering breaths as her brain struggled between rejecting and embracing that unexpected revelation. 

The true barrier to her relationship with Logan was tricky. It was engineered in a lab. It was housed in a semi-permeable protein coating. It had been created for the express purpose of causing pain, suffering, and death. It was utterly insurmountable. 

_She_ was the barrier. 

Love could overwhelm any defense, breach any barrier, surmount any obstacle…so the poets would have them believe. But that wasn't quite true. Like any other weapon in an offensive arsenal, love was ultimately vulnerable to sabotage. Fear could eat away at it from inside, turning a full, satisfying relationship into a shell of its former radiance, and slinking away like a snake into the grass. 

_So many 'what-ifs'…_ Max thought miserably. _Logan and I might have worked, if things had been just a little different._ If her childhood had been different. If the pulse hadn't happened. If he hadn't been shot. If they had worked harder to save Tinga…Brin…Ben. If they had admitted their feelings a bit sooner. If she had ducked that bullet faster. If she had escaped from Manticore a week earlier. 

If…if…if. 

But such hopes were hollow. The past was past—set in stone. Now, she was left with a head full of memories and a pocketful of regrets—and a growing certainty that Manticore had engineered the "love" gene out of its children, and replaced it with fear. 

_Why make ourselves miserable over a relationship doomed to failure? If we keep trying, one of us will just get killed…and what will that accomplish?_

Breathing out a long, careful breath, Max lifted her head to find that she had stopped almost in the shadow of the towering steel-and-glass obelisk that housed Logan's apartment. She reluctantly cut the engine, and swung one leg over the bike to stand on her feet. 

She craned her neck to look up toward his windows, steeling herself for another confrontation. 

She would tell him the truth—that there was nothing between her and Alec, but that there also could not be anything between her and Logan. She would make penance for her lies, by watching the hurt blossom in his eyes—_again_—and by weathering the many arguments he would throw at her. She would not cry. She would be kind, but firm. 

And when it was all over, and the hollow apologies had been spoken, and the well-wishes exchanged, and the light had gone entirely out of his eyes, she would be alone again. 

It was safer that way. 

For both of them.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


Please review!!!!! 

Honestly, reading everything you guys have to say (even if it's short) gives me so much inspiration to go on and write more…and I'd like to **_finish_** one of these longer stories, for once. All I need is a little encouragement, I'm sure of it… ;-) 

Coming soon!!!!!!! 

Chapter 2 - Kin 


	3. Chapter 2 - Kin

Author's Note - This chapter wasn't quite as hard to write as I thought it might be…although the next one will **_definitely_** make up for that…it's gonna be a toughie. Anyway, I'm not sure I like the way this one ended itself (really, I don't think I had a thing to do with it—it had a mind of its own by that point). It sort of felt right, but I'm not sure it makes sense, ya know? 

Also, I know I promised you an actual plot, and I **_swear_**, after this chapter, you'll start to see evidence of it—the scene between Max and Logan is coming! ;-) There were a few things I needed to set up first, and now that most of the Tallera-Brand Angst (TM) has been clarified, we can start on the way to moving past it, and on to the more interesting stuff, like _action_ and _romance_! But to warn you, the way in which the plot will develop is most of the reason why I titled this story "Spiral"...it's gonna start out kind of slow, build momentum very gradually, until finally it's hurtling on its way toward a collision with...well, now, if I told you that, you wouldn't have to read the story, would you? ;-) 

But, since all of you will **_NO DOUBT_** be writing many, many lengthy reviews, you'll all be sure to let me know what you think about all of this, right?!?!?!? ;-) Constructive criticism is always gratefully accepted…if often ignored. ;-)   
  
  


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{{Spiral}} 

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**Chapter 2 - Kin**   
  


_what are you, my blood? you touch me like you are my blood_   
_what are you, my dead? you affect me like you are my dead_   


_what are you, my god? you touch me like you are my god_   
_what are you, my twin? you affect me like you are my twin_   


_what are you, my kin? you touch me like you are my kin_   
_what are you, my air? you affect me like you are my air_   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  


One hundred sixty-two paces. One circuit around the disc of the Needle's upper levels. 

In years past, when the sun shone brighter, and these tattered corridors were populated by actual people—not just transgenics and the occasional ghost carried on the wind—the walk might have been shorter. Back then, Alec wouldn't have had to pause to clamber over uneven heaps of debris, or retrace his steps to avoid the areas where the support struts had given way to reveal unnerving glimpses of the distant earth below. 

_But still, there would have been people…tables…chairs…_ he mused momentarily. _So maybe it would've been about the same…_

_Now, it's just another forgotten ruin from a more innocent age…_ He felt suddenly enclosed, as though he had stumbled upon an ancient tomb, and the foul inhabitants had called a curse down upon his head, for disurbing their eternal place. He took a deep, calming breath… 

And stopped, near an overturned cabinet, blinking. Sniffing. _Blood?_

A frown of confusion creased his smooth brow. There was something disturbing about that faintly metallic odor, something he couldn't quite put a finger on, that nevertheless left him feeling rather unsettled. 

Why should he smell blood here, anyway? 

He sniffed the air delicately, moving his head in random patterns, trying to trace the elusive scent. He crouched lower, and was rewarded by a renewed assault on his sense of smell. Taking a careful step backwards, away from the cabinet, he scanned the grit-covered floor carefully. 

_There._

A few short paces away, by the base of a metal beam embedded in the floor...a tiny spot of dark brown. 

Alec allowed himself the barest of moments in which to take pride in his enhanced senses. _How many people can scent a single drop of dried blood in a room full of shredded metal—and with a twenty mile-per-hour ocean breeze, no less?_ he asked himself smugly. _Sometimes, it's just so cool to be me…_

But the question remained—who had been bleeding up here? It couldn't be a relic of the Pulse itself…even Alec's genetically-engineered nose wouldn't have picked up on a drop of blood a decade old… 

Ignoring the catch-phrase about curiosity that insisted on making itself heard in the back of his skull, the X5 bent down to rub a tentative finger over the darkish stain, lifting a few flecks closer to his nose. 

The scent exploded into his sinuses like he'd snorted a line of seltzer water. The delicate lining of his sensitive nasal passages burned, and his eyes began to water…but he didn't seem to notice. He just stared at his outstretched finger, smeared with a few stray flakes of dark brown…ogling it as though he couldn't believe it belonged to him. 

_What the…no. No way…_ He blinked rapidly, clearing the moisture from his eyes. His brain stubbornly refused to believe that he could possibly be so unfortunate as to happen across…_this_. And tonight, of all nights…! But never before had his heightened senses led him astray… He held his breath for a moment. _Only one way to know for sure…_

The finger trembled slightly against the wild air as he brought it hesitantly, unhappily, to his lips. 

Then the breath he had been holding escaped from his lips in a ragged sigh, and it was as if that air took all of his superhuman strength with it. His arm dropped back to his side, and he sank to his knees, eyes fixated on that small brown blotch, amid the jumble of glass fragments, caked grey grime, and slivers of metal strewn across the floor. The brown seemed to spread as he stared at it…the stain growing larger and more livid, until it threatened to encompass his entire field of view in a seething morass of dark maroon…the lone, grisly relic of a tortured life. 

The blood rushing in his ears—_oh, the blood_—seemed to grow, sounding and resounding until it became the ferocious roar of surf pounding on a rocky shore, wearing the solid ground away. Somehow, over the din, a scrap of half-forgotten conversation floated through his mind on a chilling breeze…   
  


~*~*~*~*~*~ 

_The look on 452's face was a perfect illustration of one of the stock phrases his Common Verbal Usage drillmaster had taught him: she looked 'like she'd seen a ghost.' Then her lips parted, and he started to wonder whether that phrase ought to be taken more literally than he'd realized._

_"Ben?"_

_He blinked at the odd word. Wait_—_must be a name. Did she think it was **his** name? The flesh between his eyebrows puckered in confusion. "What?"_

_Whatever 'ghost' she had been seeing faded slightly from her eyes as she scrutinized him further. Her voice was hesitant. "You look like someone I used to know…" Her appraising look, though, said that she still wasn't quite convinced of what she saw._

_He cocked his head to one side in a half-hearted shrug, dismissing her odd behavior from his concern. "Well, my designation's 494."_

_"His was 493," she replied, her voice tinged with…wonder? "You must be twinned," she went on quickly. As understanding dawned, much of the 'lost-little-girl' expression left her eyes, replaced once again by the wary, feline soldier he'd glimpsed occasionally on the training ground._

_494 found himself nodding, also comprehending. "493—your fellow traitor." The faint taste of bile rose in his throat, and he resisted the urge to spit into the corner of the room. "Went psycho."_

_452's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do you know about it?"_

~*~*~*~*~*~   
  


"493...Ben…" Speaking the short name aloud seemed to take all the breath from his lungs. Just last night, he learned more about that man—the other version of himself, the man who shared his face—than in all of the six months he'd spent in PsyObs. 

Six months spent mentally cursing his predecessor's designation… 

Followed by two years spent in perpetual fear of the other's name. Two long, chaotic years, constantly haunted by a single, harrowing thought… 

_That could have been me…could be yet._   
  


~*~*~*~*~*~ 

_X5-494 was slumped bonelessly on his side, just as they'd left him, on the fold-down cot in his barrack. His mind felt like it was floating, disconnected. He had no idea how long he'd been strapped into the Chair, with that crimson laser beam staring straight through his gaping eye, all the way into his soul._

_They had tried to make him forget her._

_At some point during the car ride back to the Manticore facility, he'd resolved himself: he would **never** forget Rachel. Despite the stabbing pain that accompanied every memory of her voice, her scent, every vision of her face, he would rather endure a lifetime of those bittersweet tortures than permit them to be snatched away, ripped from his brain by the roots. And oh, how they'd tried!_

_In the end, when his mind proved stubbornly resistant to the entire gamut of Manticore's tried-and-true engramatic suppression techniques, they'd settled for a personality reprogramming instead._

_As he would explain to Max, years later, when you couldn't forget, they had ways of making you not care._

_For now, all he knew was that he had been in the Chair for an eternity. He was exhausted, and his mind felt unbearably sluggish…off-kilter, somehow. Even breathing seemed like a chore._

_As he lay there, trying to work out whether moving into a more comfortable position would be worth the effort it would cost him, his drugged mind dimly registered two sets of footsteps in the hallway outside his door. A massive exertion of will shifted his eyes from their blank contemplation of the opposite wall, directing them toward the small, barred window in the door. A pair of dark, female eyes was framed there, topped by a few thin wisps of white-blonde hair._

_The dark eyes spoke, and their voice was icily melodic, but…calculating. Disdainful._

_Deadly._

_"Then how do you account for 494's dismal failure to achieve the mission objective?"_

_The voice that replied was lower, its words hopelessly muffled by the door, but 494 recognized it all the same. Colonel Lydecker._

_The eyes cut off the Colonel's response before he could finish speaking. "I know your position, Deck, but this disaster has made the Committee very…nervous." The voice lingered over that word, savoring it, like a mouth-watering confection. "The other one's recent pathological behavior, and now this evidence of instability…" The eyes swayed back and forth as the woman shook her head. "We can't afford to take the chance that the flaw might be genetic."_

_The eyes disappeared from the window, but 494 could still hear that distinctive voice as she spoke to the Colonel. "The guards will come for him within the hour. He's to be moved to the Psychological Observation facility for a full work-up…"_

_Lydecker made a few unintelligible noises of protest, only to be cut off once more. The woman's voice became lower and came very slowly, as if she were explaining something to an X8. "...and he is to be **kept** in the PsyObs facility until the possibility of a genetic anomaly has been **definitively** ruled out." There was a moment of quiet. 494 could picture the Colonel's reluctant acquiescence to the woman's order: a wordless nod._

_"Don't cross me, Deck." The voice was almost a whisper, filled with implied threat_—_and the pleasure that would be taken in carrying out that threat. "I may be new to this position, but I have been given full discretionary powers to act on the Committee's behalf."_

_"I won't hesitate to use it…your 'kids' be damned."_

~*~*~*~*~*~   
  


Alec's breath twisted painfully in his chest as he contemplated the blood spot. 

Ben's blood…_his_ blood. Was there any difference? Genetically, of course, he was indistinguishable from X5-493, all the way down to the sub-molecular level…every codon, every chromosome, every cell. Meticulously and absolutely identical. 

After all, what was the point of learning to create the perfect soldier, if you didn't also figure out how to replicate that perfection with matching precision? 

_It always comes down to the old 'nature vs. nurture' debate, doesn't it?_ How much of a person's character was determined by their DNA, and how much was determined by their environment, had been the topic of heated discussions in the scientific community for decades. Every few years, one side or the other would come out with a 'ground-breaking' new study to support its position, only to be deposed a few years later when the opposing camp took its turn on top. No solid conclusions ever seemed to materialize. 

While still under Manticore's tender care, X5-494 had never found much reason to ponder this ongoing debate, except perhaps as a matter of scientific curiosity (_curiosity killed…_). Even after learning of 493's troubled existence, the situation hadn't concerned him. To a well-trained Manticore soldier, the matter was simple: X5-493 had been a traitor, abandoning his mission and getting himself lost out in the World. The World was squalor, and disease, and chaos…the antithesis of everything that Manticore stood for…was it any wonder that 493 had turned psychotic? 

But then…then 494 had been paired off as part of Manticore's suddenly-urgent new breeding program. X5-452 had stalked irritably into his life, and proceeded to turn it inside out and on its ear. Less than three days after making her acquaintance, he'd returned to Manticore's Seattle facility to find it engulfed in flames. He was forcibly reintroduced to the World with all the shock of a man falling through a patch of thin ice into a thirty-four degree lake…and suddenly, the 'nature' vs. 'nurture' debate didn't seem quite so academic. 

Suddenly, it was a matter of life or death—_his_.   
  


~*~*~*~*~*~ 

_X5-494 eyed 452 askance, challenging her suspicion with thinly-concealed bitterness. "I know that because of him I had to spend six months in PsyObs. They wanted to make sure it wasn't genetic." His shoulders lifted in a fluid shrug that spoke volumes for his feline genes as he pronounced judgement on his 'twin.'. "Looks like ten years in the world finally got to him."_

_"It was **this** place that got to him." 452's retort was confident and immediate. Her tone said clearly that if he believed anything other than what she said, then he was obviously too stupid to be worth her time._

_494 rolled his eyes at her misguided arrogance. "Whatever…"_

~*~*~*~*~*~   
  


The rusted metal walls were closing in on him. Alec scrambled gracelessly to his feet, backing away from the brown smear, and retreating back out into the openness offered by the Needle's sloping roof. 

He had no difficulty envisioning Ben, standing in this very same spot, looking out over the city with the feral, practiced eye of a hunter. Whenever that image appeared before his mind's eye, he invariably found himself searching, hunting deep within himself, striving to track and overtake any hidden pieces of his own personality bearing even the slightest resemblance to that disturbing portrait. It was his own personal 'seek-and-destroy' mission—the only mission Manticore had left him. 

A mission that had yet to produce any results. 

Whenever he went looking for the traces of Ben's psychotic tendencies within himself, he always came up empty. Perversely, this lack of success only made him more certain that there _was_ something there to find. It had gone very skillfully to ground, but it was there…he was _sure_ of it. And if he didn't find it and destroy it, it would just cache itself there, gathering strength, until one day it would explode out of its hideaway and seize control of him… 

Alec lived in fear of that day…the day that he would lose any progress he had made toward humanity and devolve into the murderous automaton he had been bred to be. A mindless killing machine, devoid of all passion… The thought never failed to make him shudder with revulsion. 

And now, after Max's surprising revelations of the previous night, those thoughts became even more terrifying. 

_If I can't stop it…if I end up like 493, she'll have to go through it all over again._ Max, being forced to take his life to end his madness, as she had ended his twin's…the very idea left him feeling queasy. As if sharing Ben's face weren't torture enough… 

_Every time she looks at me,_ he thought, swallowing around the lump in his throat, _seeing him in my place, every day…how can she stand it?_

A very small part of his mind urged him to put her out of her misery. If he just left…got out of Seattle, settled in another part of the country entirely…hell, maybe even another continent! Surely it would be easier to avoid exposure outside of the country's new "Transgenic Central," right? And it would save her the grief of having to deal with the smart-ass jerk who happened to share her dead brother's identity. A good—no, a _great_ plan, in theory. 

But Alec knew he would never do it. No matter how perfect the idea sounded, he could no more leave the life he had found here than he could cut off one of his own limbs. In his more fanciful moments, he imagined that if Ben had had someone like Max to support him—and give him a swift kick in the ass when necessary—the othe X5 might have fared better in the World. 

Against all odds, Alec had made a life for himself here. He had a job, an apartment, and…friends. He couldn't help wondering whether Ben had ever had any friends at _all_, after the twelve survivors of the '09 escape had separated. 

Surely he had…? _After all, how could anybody resist someone who looks as good as me?_

Probably, considering how Ben had turned out, those hypothetical friends had either abandoned him later, or else they had gotten themselves killed—and either way, the outcome was most likely a result of Ben's transgenic heritage. 

It made a twisted kind of sense…Lydecker probably on his tail, putting him and his 'normal' friends in danger—_or worse_—ending with someone getting caught in the crossfire. _Be enough to start any X5 hating himself, killing people wearing his own barcode, over and over…_

Alec blinked, clearing his eyes of the vision of Ben's fall from grace into madness. The full moon was setting behind him, and its milky light cast a his side of the Needle into shadow. The windows of the skyline below glittered at him, winking solemnly as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. 

_Always shadowed…forever in his shadow…_

He sighed heavily. As much as he could wish things were different, he needed to steer clear of people. If he got too close, it could be just like with Rachel, just like with Ben's friends. His story doomed to repeat itself. 

It was a chance he wouldn't permit himself to take. The seed was there, buried deep within his chimeral chromosomes—the potential to become a monster…a desperate, deadly freak of nature armed with years of training in the fine art of assassination. 

He was better off alone. 

The World was better off. 

But as he finally turned toward the center of the Needle, with its cramped, unlit stairwells leading down into the dingy streets, he was disturbed to note that the thought of being entirely, irrevocably alone for the rest of his days had sparked a tiny, cold flame deep within his breast… 

And in that instant, at the back of his mind, he could almost hear the alarms sounding shrilly as, after two years of concentrated soul-stalking, of being constantly on the alert for any shred of 493's madness within himself…his private mental hunt caught the scent of that burgeoning ember… 

…and recognized its prey.   


  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


Okay, now that you've had a chance to experience the ending of this chapter (remember, the ending that I'm so uncertain about?...you _did_ read the opening Author's Note, _right??_), let me know what you think!!!!! C'mon—I went to all the trouble of writing **_six pages_**, all for your further entertainment and edification…the _least_ you guys can do is throw a few sentence fragments together in response, right? ;-)   


Coming soon!!!!!!! 

Chapter 3 - That Particular Time 


	4. Chapter 3 - That Particular Time

Author's Note: Okay, getting the first page or so down was like pulling teeth…but then this chapter suddenly got much easier, for no reason that I can figure out. I'm just glad it decided to cooperate, 'cuz… _OH. MY. **GOD…!!!**_

YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST! *sniffle-sniffle* All the reviews for Chapter 2 were so generous and sweet and…oh, wow, I almost started crying—and at _work_, no less (when I'm really not supposed to be on the 'net anyway), but it was just so _awesome!!!_ Everything you've posted has MADE MY DAY—no, make that my _WEEK_. It's a total cliché, but I feel like jumping up and down and yelling in a funky movie-voice, "They _like_ me—they _really like me!_" *blush* ;-) 

*sigh* Wow, that's a helluva rush… 

ANYWHO, I hope this chapter (lucky number 3!) is up to snuff. Like I said above, I expected it to be a really impossible one to write, but all the rave reviews made me want to get it up as soon as I could work it out, so I gave it a shot…and the story just sort of took over the reins, and I just rode along behind, trying to catch up. To me, this is the first chapter that's really had a _plot_ to it (all the kind compliments aside), instead of being just an angsty ramble…but from now on, _plot_ is gonna be the norm. Don't worry—the angst isn't gonna go away, and I _did_ promise romance, so we'll make time for that, too. ;-) But coming up in Chapter 4, you get to read about White's next move in his new "publicity offensive" against the Manticore alums…so get ready for a wicked ride…   
  
  
  
  


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{{Spiral}} 

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**Chapter 3 - That Particular Time**   
  


_my foundation was rocked_   
_my tried-and-true way to deal was to vanish_   
_my departures were old_   
_I stood in the room shaking in my boots_   


_at that particular time love encouraged me to leave_   
_at that particular moment I knew staying with you meant deserting me_   
_and that particular months was harder than you'd believe_   
_but I still left_   
_at that particular time_   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  


Really, it was a very nice door. 

Solid, pale wood…thick and sturdy. Decorative. And those were real quality hinges—not the kind that a two-bit cat burglar could pick her way into in the space of a couple of breaths. 

Max eyed it as though she was wondering whether the knob might be carnivorous…perhaps with a particular taste for fingers. _This is ridiculous…just open the damn door!_

She reached for the knob…paused…shook her head. 

Her hand lifted as if to rap her knuckles against the smooth wood…and stopped. 

Her mouth opened, then closed. 

She considered a moment. _Maybe beating my head against it will be more effective?_ Finally, with a frustrated sigh, she made a blurred grab for the knob and twisted soundlessly, slipping through the entrance with her usual stealth. 

The entire apartment was dark, but her enhanced vision adjusted immediately to the lack of light. _Maybe he went to sleep…_

But no…there was a light, after all. The only illumination in the apartment came from a single computer monitor, casting the office and living room into a muted bluish relief. Through the frosted glass partitions, she could see that the office chair was empty. 

Padding warily around the corner, she approached the desk, curious. The screen was lit with a still image…most likely a single frame from a digital video feed, she guessed. A young girl in a black bodysuit, throwing a glance up and over her shoulder, looking right at the camera. A curtain of dark, wavy hair was frozen in mid-swirl, framing a lovely oval face… 

Her own face. 

She knew he was there, somewhere. So when his voice came quietly out of the dim living room behind her, she did not startle. 

"I know it's not your best angle, but it was the only real picture of you I had." Now that she knew where he was, she could pinpoint his breathing. "I used to stare at it for hours, when you were back at Manticore." 

_Must be from that very last night…the night we took down the DNA lab at Manticore, and they caught me…_ It was funny, how lives could be fashioned and broken on the most insignificant moments. The Manticore mission that went sideways…the night she first met Logan. Now _that_ should have been a straight-up heist, no better or worse than any other she'd pulled while trying to scrape up enough cash to find the others. 

_And look where it landed me…us…_

She sighed, closing her eyes. A part of her wished she could talk to that girl on the computer screen…get her to sit down and shut her mouth long enough to explain a few things, set a couple of records straight. Max would give it to her straight up—some easy answers, some hard truths (_get out while you can, don't look back_), a sound thwap upside the head for good measure, and send her back about her business a little wiser, a little sadder, but ultimately much better off… 

But would that really be true? As hard as endings could be, weren't people always saying that missed opportunities were somehow worse? 

_Even if it's just twelve little hours…_

_Yeah, those missed opportunities **do** suck harder._

Reluctantly, she turned to face him. He sat on the sofa, leaning forward with his elbows propped on his knees, eyes fixed determinedly on a small object he was turning over and over in his hands. The ghostly blue light sparkled off the stubble on his cheek—or it might've been a tear. There was no way to tell without getting closer. 

_Not gonna happen._

"Come to get your knife back?" His voice was low and gravelly, hardened by a bitterness he couldn't mask completely. He continued to watch the glittering object he was fingering in a steady rhythm, handling it delicately—almost gingerly. It looked as though he couldn't decide whether it was revolting, or infinitely precious to him. 

She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms over her chest in an instinctively defensive posture. Her hip came to rest against the surface of his desk as she became suddenly fascinated by the scuffed toes of her combat boots. "No." 

He took that in without reaction…just continued to roll the shiny something over and over in his hands, as if that motion were the most important thing in his universe. 

_God, why does this have to be so hard…_ Max's thoughts were a maelstrom of roiling stormcloud, shot through with blinding spiderwebs of pain, and punctuated with the sharp claps and rolling bass drone of her heartbeat, thundering in her ears. Soon, the rains would fall, in all their salty misery. 

_Stop being a wuss and just get it over with…!_

She drew in a long, ragged breath to fortify herself. 

"I don't want…" She stopped, started over. "I mean, I still…" Her chin thumped inaudibly against her chest as she let out a sigh. 

_Remember—kind, but firm._

She raised her head to look directly at him, resolved. "Nothing's changed. I still can't…do this anymore, with you—us." The way he kept staring at that glass thing—_one of his knick-knacks, maybe?_—was unnerving her a bit. It was like her presence wasn't even a blip on his radar screen. But she forged on. "I just…well, I figured you ought to know the truth. 'Cuz what I said, before…wasn't." 

At that, Logan's shoulders lifted as he let out a miserable snort that might have passed, in some caustic circles, for a laugh. He flipped the glass thing end-over-end into the air in front of his nose—where it finally revealed itself to be a small, stoppered vial, like a test tube—and caught it one-handed as it fell back to earth. "Not the truth. _Really._ Now, see…I never would've caught on to that, if you hadn't said something." The sarcasm in his tone gnawed at her ears, stinging like a swarm of tiny, ravenous insects…and still, he refused to meet her gaze. "So, you mean this isn't _really_ just about you being too scared to let go of your defenses? That you _do_ still love me, and just won't admit it? That there's nothing _actually_ going on between you and Alec?" 

His voice became gradually louder and harsher as he went on, until the head of steam he'd been building up finally burst out of him in a flurry of sound and motion. "Don't you think I already **_know_** all that, Max?!?!?" He launched himself to his feet, turning his back to her and striding over to the window to survey the city below him from his solid entrenchment on the moral high ground. One hand came up to slide through his hair with a roughness born of frustration. 

Her eyes widened dramatically as she stared at the tense, angry set of his shoulders. _He…he **knew?** How…but…but he still let me…_ She shook her head in a futile attempt to still the bewildered buzzing in her brain. "I'm sorry…" It was all she could think to say. "I thought…it might be easier this way." She tried to gauge his reaction by his reflection in the window, but his face was cast in shadow. 

Logan's voice was quiet again, and sounded infinitely tired. "You didn't _think_, Max. You saw an easy way out, and you took it." There was a tense pause before he went on. "And I let you." 

The clouds in Max's head finally broke, and her eyes filled with tears. Suddenly, she couldn't stand the way they were facing off across the room at each other…she came looking for his forgiveness, and all he offered was a cold shoulder. Two, in fact. 

She crossed the room with long, nervous strides, coming to a halt in front of another window, several panes to the right of the one he had staked out, and joined him in his contemplation of the office buildings across the street. She knew there was more to be said, but couldn't have figured out how to go about saying any of it, even if her transgenic ass had depended upon it. 

In the end, he saved her by breaking the strained silence. "It was the cure that did it, wasn't it…" It wasn't really a question. His voice had shifted again, sounding almost conversational, and he had gone back to fingering the glass vial in his hands. 

She turned to look at him. The dim city lights outlined his shadowed profile with only the faintest pale line, and the image on the computer screen dyed the back of his hair a soft blue-grey. He looked…she wasn't sure. _Distant_, she finally decided, as though his body and mind were light-years apart. In a sudden flash of unrelated insight, Max remembered where she'd seen that stoppered vial before.   


~*~*~*~*~*~ 

_Had the situation been less dire, the girl known to some as X5-452 might have taken a moment to appreciate how completely her situation had changed over the past two hours…from being violated and tortured in the Chair, to holding the Director in a merciless arm-lock. But the situation **was** dire, and in that moment, Max was all business._

_"Where's the antigen?!?" she yelled._

_Renfro gasped in pain as super-human strength and merely-human rage conspired to twist her arms apart at the elbows. "I don't know! We've got to get out of here **now**, 452!"_

_They could hear the muffled roars of the explosions, feel the aftershocks, as the wave of destruction advanced steadily on their position. Max ignored the more distant threat, releasing the blonde woman's wrists with a vicious jerk and throwing her face-first against the wall._

_"My name's **Max!**" she spat, spinning the Director around and grinding her forearm into the Director's throat without pity. _Payback for that week in the shrinky-dink cell,_ a part of her whispered maliciously. "Now, **where is it?**"_

_The taller woman was a breeder of soldiers—not a soldier herself. She caved almost immediately under the painful pressure. "Okay, okay!" she cried. With uneven steps, she led her transgenic captor part-way down the wall of shelves…reached up with painstaking deliberation…closed her long-nailed fingers fastidiously around a small glass vial with a clear, amber liquid stoppered up inside…_

~*~*~*~*~*~   


The muscles in Logan's jaw shifted as his lips parted around his next words. "I've been trying to figure out when, exactly, we started to go…wrong." He blinked furiously for a moment. "And I think it was the cure. Those twelve hours we lost …that's when the last of the hope was finally leeched away. Since then, it's just been kind of a downhill spiral, and I kept wishing I could have some of that hope back, but…" 

Max's head snapped back to gaze straight ahead. His conclusions were far too similar to her recent mental wanderings for her comfort. "Yeah." 

The tension was slowly being leeched out of their long silences, but they were still too long and too silent for her to let down her careful guard. 

She opened her mouth to say her nervous good-byes, when his voice curled around her sensitive ears once more. "Things are going to get a lot rougher for you, after this incident between the transgenic and the Sector Police," he said carefully. "You don't need to be carrying around any…unnecessary emotional baggage." He shook his head as she opened her mouth to protest. "No—I mean it, Max. So, I want you to know…I'm okay with this." His adam's apple bobbed painfully as he swallowed around the lump in his throat. "It…hurts," he choked out, "but it'll get better." 

They contemplated the paling sky for a moment. 

"Promise?" Her voice was tremulous. 

"Promise," he responded with the faintest shadow of a smile. 

Then, Logan seemed to come to a decision within himself. Slowly, he turned his head to look over at Max. In a swift, fluid motion she mirrored his gesture, and their eyes met for the first time since she lied to his face and he let her walk away. 

"It's only because I love you so much, that I'm letting you go." His voice was little more than a tattered whisper falling brokenly from forbidden lips, soaking into her heart like dewdrops flung from a wind-spun leaf to the earth. 

A single tear escaped, leaving a trail down Max's cheek that glowed silver in the pre-dawn light. 

"I just want you to know," Logan went on, "however things may be between us…I've always got your back." He tried to smile for her, but it twisted only one corner of his lips, and did not reach his eyes. 

"Thanks," she replied, and all the tears that didn't fall were bound up in her ragged voice. 

With deliberate care, Logan brought his fingertips up to his lips. He pressed a kiss to them, and lowered his hand just enough to blow a gentle breath across the damp skin, toward Max's tear-tracked cheek. 

Her chin trembled slightly as she returned the gesture, and fled, so he would not see her cry.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  


Logan stood at the window for a long time, letting the sunrise dry the tears on his face. In one shaking hand, he clasped the small glass vial that had once held his salvation, pressing it to his chest. His slow, steady heartbeat echoed hollowly beneath his fingers. 

She had been a kind of wine to him, for a while…a single bottle of an incomparable vintage, to be treasured until the arrival of the perfect moment, then carefully uncorked, rolled around on his tongue and sweetly savored. If the glass was empty now…well, at least they'd been blessed with that fleeting taste. 

He turned from the window, went to the photo of Max that sat on the table, and perched the empty vial amid the metal scrollwork at the base of the frame. His fingertips brushed the outline of her cheek for a moment…like the gentle sweep of a moth's wings…or a tender kiss good-bye. 

Then Logan Cale turned away, and the man known to the world as Eyes Only left the room in search of a shower and breakfast—fortification for the day ahead. Years ago, he had set a mission for himself. For every night he lived through, he resolved to spend the following day making sure someone else survived the next. 

He had a lot of work to do.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  


Two sectors away, the dawn stillness was broken by the grumbling purr of an over-revved engine. Speed and time had dried her tears, and Max's mind began to turn to thoughts of a warm shower and fresh clothes, before heading to Jam Pony and listening to Normal whine—_again_—about her lack of punctuality. 

Logan had been right. It hurt—desperately. But it would get better. And the air in her lungs felt strangely…_electric_, as though it was a living thing, moving in and out of her chest of its own accord. She drew in an experimental breath. It felt…free. 

Had anyone been on the street at that hour, they might have seen a young woman go roaring past on a black motorcycle, her full lips curved in the smallest of smiles as the damp pavement unrolled beneath her wheels like a magic carpet without end, leading her forever onward, into the sunrise.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  


Coming soon!!!!!!! 

Chapter 4 - Precious Illusions 


	5. Chapter 4 - Wake Up, Seattle

**Author's Note:** Well, as the unexpected chapter title might indicate, there's been a bit of revision to the Grand Scheme of this fic. :-) Don't worry—it's still gonna have all the elements I've been promising!!! But after writing Chapter 3, I suddenly realized that there were several chapters (most notably 5 and 7) that served no real purpose, and the plot I'd developed wasn't quite up to snuff… 

Well, no need to bore you all with details, but suffice it to say that I've re-worked the rest of the story, and I'm much happier with the Grand Scheme now. :-) So you should be, too (I hope)! 

A slight word of warning for this chapter, though. I realized that, in the Dark Angel universe, it really wouldn't matter a whole lot how the night after "Hello, Goodbye" happened—whether it happened the way the show implied, or the way I wrote it, the events of the next day wouldn't be affected all that much. So, with that in mind, this chapter is basically one BIG spoiler/rewrite of "Dawg Day Afternoon." I have changed a number of _very_ significant details (for example, I think on the show there's actually another day in between "HG" and the transgenic manhunt, so I squished things a little, for the sake of convenience), but if you're one of the people unlucky enough not to have seen that episode yet, I just figured I ought to forewarn you before you read on. 

What, you thought I'd tell you NOT to read it? C'mon, I think the whole WORLD should read this—I get more feedback that way! Do I really seem that crazy to you?!? 

Wait, on second thought, don't answer that question… ;-) 

**Author's Note II:** Okay, this chapter is now complete! *Whew!* I know it may seem a little slow for those of you who _have_ seen "DDA," but I hope some of the changes (and the teaser at the end!!!) make up for that a little… And I promise more angst and romance in the next few chapters, cuz I need to develop that before White and his baddies can really make their appearance effectively. 

And because my roommate insisted that I mention this… There is a **_very_** obscure _Star Trek: Voyager_ reference in the first half of this chapter—kind of an in-joke among the "Triple Treaty," as Maggie, Denise and I like to call ourselves. If anyone else can catch it…well, I dunno what you get, but I'll have to come up with a cool prize. Some nifty Alec sound files I copped off of the official website, perhaps? :-) I'll give y'all a hint…it's from the 4th-season _Voyager_ episode "Message In A Bottle."   
  
  
  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

{{Spiral}} 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

  
  
  


**Chapter 4 - Wake Up, Seattle**   
  


_you like snow, but only if it's warm_   
_you like rain, but only if it's dry_   
_you like pain, but only if it doesn't hurt too much_   


_there's an obvious attraction_   
_to the path of least resistance in your life_   
_there's an obvious aversion_   
_no amount of my insistence could make you try to like_   


_'cuz it's easy not to_   
_so much easier not to_   


_get up_   
_get up_   
_get up off of it_   
_get out_   
_get out of here_   
_enough already_   
_wake up_   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


"Oh, so nice of you to grace us with your illustrious presence, Missy-miss!" One stubby finger tapped pointedly at the watch on the opposite wrist. "In this establishment, it's customary for our employees to make their morning runs while it's still _morning!_" 

Max rolled her eyes at Normal's predictable greeting. She shot him a false smile as she headed toward her locker. "Hey, a girl's gotta get in her full quota of shut-eye." 

Normal's brows drew together behind his thick glasses. "Remind me again why I haven't fired you yet?!?" 

"'Cuz you know I could kick your scrawny little ass from here to next Thursday?" she called back over her shoulder. 

Her boss looked suddenly uncomfortable, shuffling defensively in place behind the pitiful shield of his dispatch counter. "Oh, right…" 

Original Cindy greeted Max as she was pulling on her gloves. "So, wassup wit your boy now, boo?" 

Max blinked at her for a moment before looking back down at her hands. "I told you—I'm not seeing him anymore. And actually…I think we're both kind of okay with that…" 

OC was shaking her head. "Nah, nah—not Logan. I meant your boy _Alec_." 

"Alec?" Max's forehead puckered with concern. "First of all—_not_ my boy. And second—what do you mean?" 

"I swear, th' next person tries to talk to th' boy's gonna lose a finger," Cindy drawled, one eyebrow raised pointedly. "He's practic'ly carryin' around his own personal li'l thunderstorm." 

Max's surprise showed in her expression. "I dunno what his problem is," she said defensively, mimicking an uncaring attitude. "He was fine, the last time I saw him." 

OC shook her head, eyes fixed on something over Max's shoulder. "See for yo'self," she replied, tipping her head in the direction of the door. 

Max turned to see Alec coming down the ramp into Jam Pony. His stride was long and stiff, each booted foot making a loud _clump_ as it pounded the concrete. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his leather jacket as though his life depended on keeping them there, and as OC had said, he probably hadn't even noticed the sunny sky—rare for Seattle—amid the angry stormclouds gathered around his eyebrows. 

"You're right…I guess I ought to go find out what new trauma he's gotten caught up in," she sighed theatrically. When her roommate nodded her dark head, Max ambled over to where Alec was having a knock-down-drag-out with the combination on his locker. She could hear him muttering death threats under his breath. 

"Well, I'd say 'hi' and ask how you're doing," she said jokingly, leaning one shoulder against the row of lockers, "but considering your attitude, I think I'll just skip right to, 'what's wrong?'" 

The concern in her eyes belied her flippant tone, but Alec didn't seem to notice. "Look, Max," he said testily, still fighting with the dial on his lock, "I really don't think I'm up for a 'Pick-On-Alec Day' today, so could you cut me some slack—please?" 

At that, Max's eyes widened, and she dropped any pretense of humor. "Hey, slow down! You're wound up so tight, your head's about to fly off." She reached up to lay a tentative hand on his shoulder, and her voice was gentle. "What's wrong?" 

He shrugged off her hand so violently, he almost threw himself into the lockers. "Nothing!" he ground out from between clenched teeth. "I'm fine, okay? I didn't get much sleep last night." His voice was dismissive. 

Max's hackles went up. _And after our little heart-to-heart yesterday, I thought we'd gotten past this whole 'can't-stand-each-other' phase,_ she thought bitterly. 

"Hey, no problem," she spat back at him. "But if you need any help getting your head back out of your ass, let me know!" She spun on her heel, intending to grab her packages from Normal and get the hell out of there, when the TV mounted high in the corner of the locker room grabbed her attention. 

"…chased it out of our neighborhood last night," the young man was telling the red-haired reporter earnestly. "We caught up with it again this morning…thing attacked us for no reason!" 

The woman with the microphone was all business as she prodded the punk for more information. "The police aren't confirming this, but we've heard rumors about a girl…?" 

Max knew Alec was standing behind her shoulder watching the coverage, probably with the same sinking feeling in his stomach. 

The scruffy-looking guy on the screen nodded in response to the reporter's question. "Annie—she's from our neighborhood. It took her down into the sewer." 

Both X5's held their breath as the reporter, no doubt smelling some major career advancement, continued to interrogate the guy. "I'm sorry, are you saying the creature _abducted_ a girl from your neighborhood?" 

"Yeah, it took her down into the sewer. We tried to stop it, but..." He shrugged his shoulders helplessly, as if to say, 'what can you do against a transgenic, anyway?' 

Max turned to meet Alec's suddenly worried gaze. "You don't think that…" 

"I dunno," he said quietly, eyes darting around to check for eavesdroppers. His dangerous mood had evaporated in the face of this potential threat to his friends—and himself. "It might not be Joshua—it could just be a few more idiots and their paranoid delusions…" 

"But her name was Annie, what are the chances of that?" Max whispered frantically. 

The TV reporter's voice cut across their conversation like a bell, tolling the shrill, mournful news that any hope they once had of remaining hidden, was now futile. "…correction, a young _blind_ woman…stay with Channel 3 News as this extraordinary situation continues to unfold. We'll be bringing you continuous coverage…" 

But Max and Alec didn't hear the end of the woman's report. They were already out the door, and even Normal's frustrated shouts couldn't catch up to them as they grabbed their bikes and lit out for Sector 3 as if all of Manticore was on their heels.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


Asha let herself into Logan's apartment, listening hard. After that one time she'd come waltzing in and stuck her foot halfway down her gullet with that crack about Max "and all her furry little friends," she'd been a lot more careful about knowing who was around when she came over. 

But today the apartment was silent…no, not quite. She could hear the sporadic _ticketty-tick_ of nimble fingers flying over a computer keyboard. She smiled softly, and continued into the apartment, stopping in the office doorway to lean against the edge of the partition. 

"Hey," she said by way of greeting, letting her backpack _thunk_ to the floor by her feet. 

"Hey," he responded in kind, throwing her a sideways glance. 

He didn't smile, and she filed that information away for future consideration. _Fodder for a later obsession session_, she thought resignedly. _One of these days, I'll either get over him, figure him out, or go completely insane trying to do one or the other…_

She sighed. "So, whatcha working on?" She moved behind him, leaning one palm on the surface of the desk to peer over his shoulder at the screen. 

"Trying to hack into the Sector Police mainframe," he said slowly, as he concentrated on the commands he was entering. "I thought maybe if I could get my hands on the complete hover-drone footage of that transgenic 'attack,' I could use it to help Max and the others." 

Asha dropped her gaze and straightened, pulling away from him. "Oh." She turned around, half-sitting on the adjacent desk as she examined her fingernails with feigned interest. "So…have you heard from her since…?" _Since the Phone Call Of Doom,_ she wanted to say, but long habit made her bite her tongue. 

Logan let out a huff of air—almost a chuckle. "Actually, she stopped by last night," he said conversationally, in that tone of his that said _I'm-not-happy_ in a remarkably buoyant way. "Twice, come to think of it… The first time's a little hazy, but the second was a lot more memorable…" His voice trailed off as he became lost in the memory for a moment. 

The blonde girl's face froze. _C'mon, what did you think would happen? That she'd drop kick him to the curb and leave you to pick up the pieces…? Works in theory, but you wouldn't really want that for him…would you?_ She forced her voice into a jovial tone she didn't feel. "So I guess the two of you are cool again, then? That's—that's really great…" 

Now he turned to look up at her over his shoulder, a wry half-smile quirking his lips. "It's okay, Asha—you don't have to play cheerleader today." He continued to meet her eyes as he forced his next words around the lump in his throat. "It's over…_really_ over." 

Her eyes widened fractionally, and she held her breath as he gazed off into the distance above her right shoulder. "Oh…god, I'm so sorry, Logan…" 

He shook his head distractedly. "Don't be…'cuz, oddly…I think we're gonna be okay with it." He frowned slightly, remembering. "We talked a bit, and we agreed that it…just couldn't work anymore." After a moment, he refocused on her, his cheeks reddening slightly. "Anyway, it's not like we could…" 

A sudden, shrill beeping from the computer next to him interrupted his comment. He turned to call up the program that triggered the alarm, and stiffened in surprise. 

"It's the flag I put on the police dispatcher frequencies," he informed her. His tone had gone from soulful to businesslike, in the time it took him to absorb the information on the screen. "I programmed it to alert me of any mention of transgenics—or related words, like 'mutant,' 'Manticore,' and so on…" He trailed off as he read the report further. 

All of the color began to drain from his face. "Asha—turn on Channel 3." His voice was flat and cold, and sent chills down her spine. She scrambled for the remote, and flipped to the proper channel just in time to catch the anchorman's words. 

"…description of the transgenic. This exclusive rendering of the transgenic was drawn from eyewitness accounts by the three brave young men who first saw it." The camera shifted to frame the newsman in the left half of the screen, while a digitally-rendered image came up to the right of his head. 

Asha gasped in shock. The drawing was very well-detailed, and depicted a vicious-looking creature, part human, part…dog, maybe? The thing's lips were distorted in a feral snarl, revealing a mouth full of very sharp teeth, and there was a rabid light in its charcoal eyes. A halo of dank, stringy hair hung limply around its face. "What the hell _is_ that?" she breathed. 

Logan's gaze was also fixed on the drawing on the TV screen. "Joshua," he replied grimly. 

Asha's eyes flew to his face. "Wait—you _know_ this thing?!?" 

"One of Max's 'furry little friends,'" he explained. She winced at the reference, but listened as he went on determinedly. "He's not like they've made him look. He's really shy and gentle…we've got to get him out of this!" 

She closed her eyes for an instant. _I almost wish I'd never heard of Manticore,_ she thought sadly. _My life would have been so much easier! But if it's so important to him…_

When she opened her eyes again, there was a steely glint there. "You page Max and grab what you need, and I'll go start the car," she said, snatching his keys from the desk. She was halfway to the door when his voice stopped her. 

"Asha—" 

She turned back to look at him, framed in his office doorway. 

"You know you don't have to do this." He looked at her worriedly. "I know it's not your problem, and we can probably handle it…" 

She shook her head slowly at him. "Yeah, well, it's not really your problem, either, but you're rushing off to the rescue, like usual." An affectionate smile took the sting out of her words. "In my book, that's enough to _make_ it my problem." 

He just looked at her for a moment, before allowing a small smile to crease his face and light his eyes. "Thanks, Asha. Really." 

She just nodded, still smiling. "Meet me at the car when you're ready," she said, turning toward the door again. "That way, I can drive while you do your thing." The door _snicked_ softly as she closed it behind her. 

Logan looked at the door for a moment, then focused on grabbing his cell phone, laptop, and whatever else he could think of that might help them extricate Joshua. Most of the time, Eyes Only was about saving the world. Today, it was about saving a friend. 

A moment later, the door latch fell into place once more, and the apartment was empty.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


"So, do you have a plan for rescuing Joshua, or are we making this up as we go?" 

"Shut up!" 

Alec sighed. _Oh, so it's gonna be like this, huh?_ "Look, Maxie, I'm as worried about the big guy as you are, but that's no reason to snap—" 

Max turned to glare daggers at him. "I'm _trying_ to hear what the cops over there are saying…but it's a lot harder when you're yelling into my ear!" She was only slightly mollified by his sheepish look. 

"Sorry…" 

"I think I got what we needed," she said by way of forgiveness. "They've closed off some of the sluice gates, and they're gonna try to herd him back to that manhole," she pointed to the middle of the cordoned-off intersection, "to take him down." 

Alec shuddered slightly at the thought of climbing up out of a manhole to find a dozen automatic rifles staring him in the face. _Wouldn't be my first choice of welcoming parties._ "Okay—so what's the plan?" 

Max was already moving away from the police barricades toward the sidewalk, forcing Alec to jog to catch up to her. "We find a way down into the sewers, and get Joshua out before they can tighten their net around him," she stated plainly. 

Alec scrubbed at his face with one hand. "How did I know you were gonna say that?" he muttered under his breath. "Why is it that so much of our time together seems to be spent in nasty, slimy sewer tunnels?" 

"Just lucky, I guess—" 

But before Max could continue that thought, a shout from behind them caught their attention. 

"Max! Alec! Hey, guys!" 

Max closed her eyes, frustrated. "Sketchy?" 

A surreptitious glance over his shoulder confirmed it. "Sketchy." 

"Guys, what's up?" Sketchy's friendly voice rang out once more. 

"Just what we needed," Max mumbled as she turned around… 

…and froze in her tracks. 

"Wake up, dirtbag!" A new voice intruded on their little tableau—a cold, arrogant voice that could only belong to one person… 

"_White!_" Alec breathed. The moment Sketchy's attention was diverted, Alec grabbed Max's arm and pulled her into the crowd gathering on the sidewalk, where they had more freedom to move away unnoticed. A block away, they paused to take stock of the situation. 

"Do you think he saw us?" Max asked worriedly. 

"Nah, if he had, we'd already be surrounded," was Alec's opinion. "But that was really dumb of us, hanging around for so long—we should've known he'd be all over this the minute it showed up on the news." 

"But what choice did we have? We had to find out what the police were planning, or else we might as well just let them _have_ Joshua…and that's _not_ gonna happen!" 

But Alec wasn't paying attention. He was looking at something over her shoulder, and the gleam in her eye reminded her a bit of a little kid finding an unattended cookie jar. "Don't worry, Maxie," he said with a wolfish grin. "I've got it all under control…" 

She glanced over her shoulder at the lone cop guarding the manhole across the street. Her wicked grin was a mirror image of his own. "Sometimes, Alec, I really like the way your mind works…"   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


"Wow…talk about a media circus…" Asha's voice was tinged with awe and worry as she shifted the car into park twenty yards shy of the police barricades. 

Logan grunted in response, typing furiously on his laptop. "Keep an eye out for Max, will you?" he requested distractedly. "As soon as she catches wind of this, she'll be here in a heartbeat…" 

"So, this 'Joshua' guy is…a good friend?" Asha inquired dubiously. "I would've thought, well—cat DNA, dog DNA…you know…" 

Logan smiled at her attempt to explain herself. "I know what you mean, but…no, they're actually pretty close." He tapped a few more keys, then sat back to wait for the satellite link to be established. "I figured she'd be here already, actually." 

Asha frowned at him in confusion. "Why not just page her?" 

Logan looked over at her, blinking momentarily. "Page her. Right…good idea." He reached for his cell phone. 

Asha smirked smugly at him. "Didn't think of it, did you?" 

"Hey—how come everyone always expects me to think of _everything?_" 

"You're welcome." 

"Mmm-hmm…" His reply was non-committal, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he hit the speed dial.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


Max and Alec moved silently down the dim, green tunnel, pausing every few moments to listen for the telltale sounds of the Sector Police search teams. They had already dodged two patrols by pulling themselves up among the pipes near the ceiling, and Alec had come to the conclusion that there was nothing more disgusting than the dank, drippy ceiling of a sewer tunnel 

Except maybe the foul, oozy floor. 

_I shouldn't be here, anyway,_ he thought in frustration. _I should've just walked away from that stupid news broadcast…told Max it was her problem, and kept right on going…_ He sighed heavily._ But it's just so damned **hard** to keep friends at arm's length, when you feel like you have to keep risking your neck to save their lives…and your own…_

As they came into a larger chamber where two tunnels converged, Max raised one hand in warning, and both X5's froze in their tracks. 

"Delta Team moving to east junction. Over." 

The ominous voice of a search team reporting in echoed toward them down the tunnel to their left. Max waved Alec back toward the tunnel they had just emerged from, using the silent hand-signals they had learned at Manticore. 

_Backtrack, come around by another route,_ she signed. 

_Okay_, he responded…but then his hands told her to stop again. 

Another echo came down the tunnel at their backs. "Alpha Team moving to east junction. Over." 

Their eyes met as they shared a single thought. 

_Oh, shit…_

Moving as quickly and as silently as he could, Alec grasped Max around the waist and lifted her, so she could swing up and over the pipes near the ceiling, as they had done before. She got one knee up, but after a moment of struggling, she looked over her shoulder at him with panic in her eyes. 

"Alec, there's not enough space! We can't fit!" she whispered frantically. 

His eyes swung back and forth between the two tunnels. The bobbing lights of both search teams could be seen now, steadily approaching them. They had just seconds to find a place to hide, or they would be discovered… 

Alec signaled to Max with a blur of hand-signs. She nodded, and continued to cling to the pipe, but inched down it so she was as close to the wall as she could get, leaving an unoccupied span of pipe for Alec to leap up and grab. He copied Max's action by wrapping both legs as far around the pipe as the limited clearance would allow, and set his muscles for a long, uncomfortable wait.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


The two search patrols greeted each other in the east junction room with nods all around. 

"Anything?" the Alpha Team leader inquired. 

Delta Team shook their heads in disgust. All of the search teams were frustrated. They'd been over every inch of these stinking tunnels—_twice_—and had yet to find either hide or hair of the monster they were looking for. Maybe the kids had imagined the damn thing, after all… 

_Bee-bee-beep…bee-bee-beep._

Huh? 

The cops looked at each other in confusion, when the noise suddenly came again. 

_Bee-bee-beep…bee-bee-beep._

Slowly, they looked up…straight into Max and Alec's startled eyes. 

The two X5's looked at each other. 

"You couldn't have put the damned thing on vibrate?" Alec asked in a pained voice. Then they both let go of the pipe and fell onto the four startled men below. 

Max's feet swung free, clobbering one unsuspecting cop as she dangled by her hands. Then she dropped to the floor, dipping beneath the punch the cop's partner threw at her. She came up underneath his outstretched arm, using his own weight and momentum as leverage to flip him over her shoulder. 

Alec had taken a different tack, since neither member of the other team had been within reach when they stopped. He dropped directly to the floor, moving in a genetically-enhanced blur to avoid the rifles trained on him. He came in under the first trooper's aim, ramming the heel of his hand into the man's nose, while simultaneously breaking his grip on the gun, which went skidding across the chamber. 

The other guard abandoned the idea of using guns. He simply dropped one shoulder and charged Alec, catching him directly in the gut and bowling him to the floor…but a transgenic with almost two decades of Manticore training under his belt doesn't go down quite _that_ easily. Even as Alec fell, he planted his feet in his opponent's stomach. The instant he hit the floor, the X5 grabbed the other man's wrists and kicked out, flipping the cop over his head, where he struck the wall behind them with the flat of his back, his head pointed toward the floor. The impact stunned him long enough for gravity to finish the job—he slid down the wall to the floor, head first, and didn't get up again. 

Alec got up, rubbing his sore stomach muscles, and looked just in time to see Max kneeling over a fifth guard neither of them had noticed. She appeared to have laid the man out with a single, vicious right hook. Alec winced slightly, remembering what it was like to be on the receiving end of that particular punch. _Not an experience I plan to repeat anytime soon…_

"Well, that was fun," he said sarcastically. "But can we just find the big guy and get out of here? 'Cuz it's already gonna take me a week of showering to get this smell off of me…" His voice trailed off as he got a better look Max's last victim. "Sketchy?" 

"Idiot," was Max's considered opinion. She levered herself to her feet and turned to look at him. "You got your cell phone on you?" 

"Yeah," he replied, tossing it in her direction. He kept a careful eye on Sketchy while she dialed. _Wouldn't want him to wake up and start asking questions…_   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


Logan was frantically typing when his cell phone rang. He didn't take his eyes from his laptop's screen as he said, "Hey, could you answer that?" 

Asha picked up the phone and flipped it open. "Hello?" 

_Asha? It's me.>>_

The blonde woman turned to Logan. "It's her." 

_Where are you two?>>_

"We're right outside the police cordon, where they're searching for…your friend." Asha decided that discretion was probably the better part of valor. After all, you never knew who might be listening in on a cell phone call. "Where are you? Logan expected you to be here long before this…" 

_We're in the sewers, looking for that friend. Did Logan bring you up to speed on our friend's…situation?>>_

Asha found herself nodding, despite the fact that Max couldn't hear it. "Yeah, he gave me the abridged version. I guess we'll have time for the longer one later." Then she blinked, frowning. "Wait—who's 'we'?" 

_Me and Alec.>>_

"Oh, okay." She glanced over at Logan. "Alec's down there with her." Logan nodded, and motioned for her to give him the phone. "Hang on, Max, Logan needs to talk to you for a sec." 

"Max, I hacked into the Sector Police computer," Logan said without preamble. "They're using a GPS to track their men. They've searched about half the area, so there's no sense in you going over the same ground…" He brought up a more detailed map on the screen in front of him. "Where are you?" 

_Um…>>_ Logan could hear her talking to Alec in the background. _What was the sign at the last intersection…? Right. Logan…? We're just south of junction J-12-R.>>_

Logan gave her a few directions on how best to go about their search, then signed off. 

Asha looked over at him, worry etched between her brows. "D'you think they'll find him in time?" 

Logan gave her a smile, but couldn't hide his own concern. "As long as nothing else goes wrong, they ought to be fine…" He trailed off as Asha buried her face in her hands with a soft moan. "What—are you okay?" 

Asha looked up at him with a mixture of frustration and humor in her eyes. "When are you gonna learn about saying things like that? Now they're probably doomed!" 

He laughed out loud at that…then trailed off uncertainly. They looked at each other for a beat, then Logan went back to typing…his fingers flying over the keys even more frantically than before.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


Half a mile away from the scene in the intersection, two complacent Sector Policemen were guarding a sewer entrance beneath a quaint stone bridge. They considered themselves lucky—nothing to do but make sure none of the freaks got out of the sewers, and their assignment afforded them a chance to see something few Seattle residents believed existed—_green grass_. 

Had they known what was coming, they might not have thought themselves so lucky, because that day, chance had cast them in the roles of two post-apocalyptic 'Chicken Littles.' With no warning, the sky suddenly came crashing down on their heads, in the form of a dark, ominous man in a grey raincoat. 

The man got up, seemingly unaffected by his fifteen-foot fall, and eyed the two cops for a moment…just to be sure they wouldn't get up again. Satisfied with his handiwork, he turned and strode confidently through the unguarded sewer entrance, a determined scowl on his face.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


"It's okay if they find me, Joshua," she said tiredly. "It's _not_ okay if they find you." She could feel his mournful gaze on her, despite not being able to see his face. Now that she knew it's shape, she could almost imagine the pitiful expressions he must be able to assume…like her mother used to describe Billie's soulful face, when she got a pebble stuck in her paw… 

She could hear his hesitation. "Go on…when they find me, I'll tell them you went the other way." She tried to inject a note of steel into her tone, like her father used to do when he meant to brook no resistance…but she could her voice tremble. _God, don't let me wait alone for long…_

With a soft whisper of hair and clothes, and a guttural whine, Joshua approached her again. "Annie…I can't leave you here by yourself—" 

She shook her head. "It's the only way you'll—" She broke off suddenly, listening. _Footsteps, quick and light, but definitely human…no voices, no walkie-talkies, but had to be the police…_ "Joshua, _go!_ Someone's coming, they might see you any second—hurry!" 

She reached up, feeling around for his cheek. Her outstretched fingers grasped hair, then warm skin. "Please go, now!" she begged helplessly. "If something happens to you…I won't be able to come by your house tomorrow to see you, now will I?" 

The hope and wonder in his voice almost brought tears to her unseeing eyes. "Tomorrow?" 

"Tomorrow," she affirmed. "Now get going!" 

She heard him move away, but the sound was quickly overwhelmed by the footsteps approaching from the right-hand passage…two pairs, moving quickly but carefully…not running… _Surely they can see me by now? They're so close…_

"Annie?" 

The man's voice was unfamiliar…deep and rich. "Who's there?" she called, uncertain. 

"It's her!" the man said to his companion. "It's alright, Annie—we're friends of Joshua's." He sounded breathless, as though he had been holding his breath for a very long time. 

She frowned, suspicious. "How—how do I know that's true?" she asked boldly. 

There was a momentary silence. Then, a woman's voice…sassy, and young. "Well, I guess bar-codes are kind of a moot point, huh?" 

Someone took a deep breath. "Annie, I…hate to tell you, but…I was there. The other day, when you came by Joshua's, and he told you he had to leave. When you touched his face…that was me." 

Alec waited a moment, letting that sink in. He expected the girl to be shocked, disgusted that they had tried to trick her…but she just nodded. 

"He told me about that," she said simply. 

Alec waited for her to say something more, but realized that she still wasn't sure of them. _She's not going to say anything that might give Joshua away…_ He marveled at her nerve. _Wish a few more of our friends were so loyal…_

"Well, if you touched my face again, right now…could you recognize me?" 

She seemed to weigh that in her mind for a moment, then nodded sharply. "I could," she responded, bringing up her hands to remove one glove. 

Max looked on in wonder as Annie's fingers brushed delicately over Alec's features, hovering like butterflies on his nose…brow…lips. _Imagine, living your entire life not just in the shadows, but in total darkness…_ she mused. _This would be the only way she'd ever "see" anything…_

Dusky lips curved into a small smile. "It _is_ you…" she breathed. Then her forehead creased in worry. "I wonder if he's still nearby…" With that, she took a deep breath, and her mouth opened wide. "_JOSHUA?_" 

Max's eyes bulged. "_Shhh!_ Do you want to bring every patrol team in the city down on our heads?!?" 

But Annie appeared unconcerned. "He just left me a second ago—he can probably still hear me." 

As if to prove her point, a deep, guttural cry came echoing faintly back down the tunnel at them. "_Annie…?_" 

One side of her mouth quirked into a small grin. "You _did_ want to find him, right?"   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


This time, Logan was holding his cell phone when it rang, and he answered without waiting for a second one. "Yeah?" 

_Logan, it's me. We found them—both of them.>>_

Logan breathed out a happy breath at the news. He could hear a similarly relieved tone in Max's voice…along with something else… 

_I missed you, too, Big Fella, but I still need to breathe!>>_ he heard Max mutter off the line, and he smiled, pausing to cover the receiver as he relayed the message to Asha: "They've found him." 

She grinned in response, appearing as honestly thrilled as he himself was. _And she doesn't even **know** Joshua,_ he marveled. _We really have underestimated her…we could've trusted her with this a long time ago…_

Max was speaking into the phone again. _Okay, we've got what we came for—now, can you get us out again?>>_

"I think so," Logan replied, focusing back on the task at hand. _We're not out of the woods yet._ "I've been keeping an eye on a couple of guards stationed about three-quarters of a mile from your position…they're guarding a sewer entrance underneath the old stone bridge in Pratt Park…you know the place?" 

_Yeah…but if it's being guarded…>>_

"Ah, but I don't think it is," Logan corrected. He called up a localized map on the screen. "From what I can see, those two guards haven't moved so much as an inch in the last half-hour. Which means either they sat down to take a nap, or…" 

_…or someone "convinced" them to. Good call.>>_ Logan could almost hear the gears in Max's head turning. _Okay, so what's between us and that exit?>>_

Logan frowned slightly. "That's what worries me," he confessed slowly. "There doesn't seem to be much of _anything_ in your way…" 

_Which means whatever it is, it's keeping a low profile,>>_ Max intuited, nodding absently. Alec gave her a questioning look, but she shook her head at him, mouthing "later." _Okay, map it out for me.>>_

Logan described the route from their position to the bridge exit with painstaking detail, knowing that Max's genetically-enhanced mind would store every word for later recall. 

"…and at that point, you've basically got three choices," he continued. His voice was getting hoarse from several minutes of constant speaking. "You'll come to a four-way intersection. Both the right and left tunnels will lead you to the bridge exit—they both circle around and rejoin a few hundred yards later, and then it's a straight shot along the bank of a large drainage stream, and you're in the clear." 

_Okay…where does the third tunnel go?>>_

Logan scrutinized the map again. "It looks like that one could be an alternate route, if you get stuck and can't get out by way of the bridge," he finally decided. "It goes to a ladder leading up, and a tunnel that will take you back toward the Sector Police command center. It wouldn't be your first choice, but if you have to go that way, we may still be able to get you out…" Logan looked at all the flashing yellow dots in that section of the map. "…if you're _really_ lucky," he added under his breath. 

_Noted.>>_ Max responded dryly. Logan could envision her expression—a wry half-smile—and felt a slight pang at the thought that he could _be there_ to witness the smile he'd put on that beautiful face… _We're gonna head out. We'll contact you when we're close to the exit…can you pick us up in the park?>>_

"No problem," he confirmed. "But Max—be careful." 

_Always.>>_ And the line went dead. 

Logan let out a sigh as he turned off the cell phone. 

Asha looked over at him in sympathy, and placed one hand atop his, where it rested on the keyboard of his laptop. "They'll come out okay," she assured him softly. Then she smiled. "Put those two together, and they can cause more trouble than two wolves in a henhouse—but they can also get themselves back _out_ of the henhouse," she said, a twinkle in her eye. "And usually leave it with one or two hens less than when they went in…" 

Logan suddenly discovered that, despite the trying events of the last several days, he was still able to laugh…and it still felt damned good.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


_What Logan failed to mention,_ Max mused, as she ran down the dank, greenish tunnel as quickly as she could, while still allowing the blind girl she was guiding to keep up, _was that the stupid straight-ahead tunnel didn't end with a stone wall, but with a metal grille…_

They had made their way to the intersection of the four passageways with remarkably little trouble. But as they had emerged into the junction room, Max in the lead, Joshua leading Annie behind her, and Alec bringing up the rear, the ears of the three transgenics had been suddenly assaulted by the echoing roar of a gunshot, zinging over their heads—a near-miss. 

_Too close!_ They all hit the floor—Annie, not without a small cry of surprise. Max looked up… 

…and straight into the dark, hateful eyes of Ames White. He was standing perhaps fifty yards away, straight ahead down the tunnel, on the other side of a sealed metal grate that bisected the passage. 

Suddenly, the layout of the area became painfully clear in Max's mind. The sewer tunnel they had just emerged from was the stem of a Y—only with three branches instead of two—with the chamber they were in as the intersection of the three branches. Logan had led them to believe that only the left and right branches led onward, but if the grate straight ahead were open, all _three_ would lead out to the exit under the bridge, once they rejoined at another intersection farther down. 

She watched from behind the corner of the junction room as White spun on his heel and ran back down his tunnel, no doubt with the intention of coming back up one of the side passages, to capture them…or worse. 

_We are in **such** deep shit…_

All this flashed through Max's mind in a split second. Then she heard Alec's voice calling out to her, and she knew he'd reached the same conclusions. 

"Max! You take Annie and go left—White's coming up the other way! Joshua and I will go straight to the ladder, draw him away from you…" 

Max's head whipped around to look Alec in the eyes—_god, so much like Ben's eyes_—and read there his confidence…and his determination to get everyone out in one piece. _Damn it…what is it about Manticore transgenics that makes us all so god-damned self-sacrificing??_ She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. 

"Dammit, Max! For once, just _listen_ to me and **_go!!_**" The fear in his voice was real, but it wasn't for himself. 

She blinked twice, then nodded, and reached for Annie's hand, taking care to guide the young woman so she wouldn't bump into any of the narrow passage walls. "It's okay," she tried to reassume the frightened girl, despite the quaver in her own voice. "Joshua and Alec are getting out a different way. White can't follow us all…" 

As she led the other woman down the brightening walkway toward the faded Seattle sunlight, Max's enhanced hearing picked up a shout, full of malice and thwarted purpose, its dying echoes roiling at her heels… 

_"This isn't over, 452! You think you've seen the worst of me, but you've seen **nothing!** I've got plans for you, 452… Soon the whole world will know your face, and curse your name…"_

Max couldn't suppress the shiver that rolled down her spine as she and Annie burst out into the cool sunlight.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


_C'mon, Logan ol' buddy, pick up the damned phone!_ Fear made Alec impatient. One ring…two… 

_Yeah?>>_

"Logan! Damn, I thought you'd never pick up!" The X5 would have heaved a sigh of relief, but at that moment, most of his breath was already dedicated to running and talking. 

He and Joshua had lingered deliberately in the junction room as Max and Annie got away. At the last possible second, they dove for the descending ladder, ensuring that White caught the barest glimpse of Joshua's shaggy head before they disappeared from view. Now, they were trying to lose the maniacal agent in the maze of sewer tunnels…but all they were accomplishing was getting _themselves_ remarkably lost. 

_Alec?>>_

"No time to chat, buddy—we need some navigation help, and _fast_—White's on our tail!" Alec huffed, catching a glimpse of a wall marking as they sped past. "We just blazed through junction J-42…you got any exits coming up soon?" A mental light bulb went on as he recalled something else. "Oh, and Max and Annie should be getting out under that bridge, like you said…they'll be needing a pick-up sometime soon." 

Logan's harried sigh came through as clearly as if they were sitting in the same car together. "Well, as soon as we're done saving your ass, Asha and I will get right on that…" Alec could hear fingers on a keyboard, and then Logan's voice came back. "Okay, take the next tunnel on your right—it should only be about twenty yards or so from the last one." 

Alec skidded to a stop, cursing. "_Josh!_" he whispered loudly, indicating the opening several feet behind them. They backtracked, taking the new tunnel, as Logan continued to direct them. 

"Keep going. Now, you should see a ladder on your left…take it down one level." 

Alec frowned into the phone. "_Down?_ You sure you don't have that map turned around?" 

Logan rolled his eyes at the skepticism in the X5's tone. "Damn it, Alec—don't second-guess me! Just _go!_" 

Alec's frown turned into a glare. _I **hate** it when that guy's right…_ He glanced back at Joshua, running easily at his shoulder. "C'mon, big guy—if the man says 'down,' then down the ladder it is," he said tensely, gesturing to Joshua to precede him in the slippery descent.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


Asha sat in the driver's seat and watched Logan converse with Alec, her eyes wide. She could tell from Logan's voice and the tense set of his neck and shoulders that something had gone horribly sideways. So when he turned to look at her with imploring eyes, her response was immediate. 

"What do you need me to do?" 

He rewarded her with the faintest of smiles, and reached to indicate a point on the map of Seattle's streets. "We're only a few blocks away from here," he told her, muffling the phone against his shoulder. "Can you get us there fast?" 

"No problem," she said, starting the car and laying on the horn to clear away the crowds of pedestrians now flocking to the site. 

Logan was quick to caution her, "There's gonna be a cop or two guarding this manhole." There was concern in his eyes. "We're gonna need a way to take them out quietly…" 

She turned to look him in the eye momentarily, and her grin was devious. "Why, Logan…didn't I ever tell you what a wonderful driver I am?" 

"Look out!" 

Her eyes snapped back to what was ahead of her, to narrowly avoid mowing down some guy selling ice cream cones. Then she had to whip the wheel back the other way, to miss the greasy-looking bum with the rack of tacky T-shirts, loudly proclaiming in red text on heather grey cloth, "_I Survived A Mutant Attack!_" 

_Serves them right_, she thought vindictively, as she finally made it out of the cloying crowd and sped off down the stretch of uncluttered concrete before her.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


Alec looked around in surprise. _Kinda creepy, actually…that a sewer chamber could be so pretty…_ He spoke into his cell phone again. "Hey, Logan, we're in a big room—where to next?" 

_There should be three tunnels on the far side of the room—take the second one from the right. And, Alec…>>_

"Yeah?" 

_Hurry!>>_

Alec motioned to Joshua, and the two leapt over the railing into the shallow pool of water on the main floor of the chamber… 

…and right into the path of the four Sector Police approaching out of the other two tunnels. 

_Oh, **shit**…_

"_Go_, Joshua! **_Now!!_**" Alec turned and sprinted madly for the only passageway still open. He heard gunshots, felt bullets buzzing past his shoulders like kamikaze bumblebees on steroids. They dodged, zigzagging across the passage, but just as they rounded the corner out of the line of fire, he heard Joshua grunt in pain. Risking a glance back, he saw the big guy falter. 

Alec's mind froze. It was astonishing, really…how fast panic could rise up to choke you, even when you're not supposed to care about anything but yourself. 

He reached behind him, grabbing one of Joshua's enormous paws, and kept running, dragging his injured friend along with him. Their genetically-enhanced speed was making the difference, keeping them ahead of White and the Sector Police… 

…for the moment.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


Logan sat very still, his mouth hanging so far open that his chin rested comically on his chest. 

Asha, still in the driver's seat, crossed her arms over her chest, looking smug. "So…can I drive, or _can't_ I?" 

Her companion's jaw flapped uselessly for a moment, as he struggled to regain his voice. Finally he cleared his throat enough to respond. "That was…impressive. I'm…impressed." 

They were parked neatly at the side of the street, not twenty feet from the manhole where Alec and Joshua ought to emerge. The two Sector Police guards were also present, but they were lying flat out on the pavement. Asha had taken one of them out with a head-on hit-and-run-style assault. The other had fallen victim a few seconds later, when she had cut the wheel suddenly as far to the right as it would go, sending the vehicle into a vicious tailspin. A moment later, the car had ended up precisely parked, and the cops had ended up down for the count. 

Asha made a great show of breathing on her fingernails and buffing them against her shirt. She was about to comment on his witty repartee, when a loud metal clanking startled them both. 

"The manhole!" Logan was the first out of the car, dashing over to the violently dancing metal lid and helping to lift it. 

Alec's wild, frightened eyes came into view as the cover rolled away. "Joshua…" he huffed, obviously exhausted from running. "Shot…" 

"Oh, no…" Logan's voice was strained. He and Asha struggled to help Alec lift the barely-conscious transgenic out of the sewer through a manhole not designed for men sporting canine DNA. It wasn't until Alec had clambered up after them and could take much of Joshua's weight off her arms that Asha stopped to really _look_ at the creature they were working to save. 

He was _enormous_—at least six and a half feet tall, with broad shoulders to match. His face was much like the image they had shown on the news broadcast…but even with that face twisted and distorted with pain, she could see that Logan was right. This was _not_ the face of a vicious, bloodthirsty killer. It was a softer, sadder face than the crude drawing had shown…the face of a faithful friend. 

Its innate friendliness didn't make it any less shocking, however. 

Asha stopped and shook herself gently. The surprise had thrown her off-kilter for a moment, but then she recalled the urgency of the situation, and hurried around in front of the two men carrying their limp friend, to open the car door for them.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


Max continued to trudge along the park path, gently leading Annie by her side. She was lost in her own thoughts when the pager at her hip buzzed, startling her. 

"What's that?" Annie asked sharply. 

_Wow, she's really jumpy,_ Max marveled. _But then again, she's probably not nearly as used to getting shot at as I am…_

"Don't worry," she reassured the blind girl. "It's just my pager…actually, it's Logan—the guy I was talking to on the phone, who helped us out of the sewers," she added for the sake of clarity." Off of Annie's understanding nod, she looked around, noting a pay phone a few paces away. _Thank goodness for small miracles…_

She punched in Logan's cell phone number from memory. Now that much of the excitement was over, she had the luxury of feeling a small pang at that insignificant detail. _How much have I taken him for granted, these past two years?_ She wondered sadly. _And now, he's not there anymore…or at least, not in the same way…_ She shook herself as she heard the _click_ of the line connecting. 

"Max?" Logan's voice was tense, and she felt her stomach clench. 

"Yeah—is everything okay?" _Please, please tell me they're okay…_

She could hear his sigh. "Well, it _will_ be…" he hedged. "You guys got out alright?" 

"Yeah, yeah, we're fine. What about Alec and Joshua?" 

"They got out, too. We're at Joshua's house right now." There was a pause. "Max…Joshua's been shot." 

"**_WHAT?!?_**" 

Logan was quick to reassure her. "Calm down, it's okay—he's gonna be fine! It just winged him. But how far are you from here?" 

Max took a quick glance at their surroundings. "Not far…just a couple of blocks. I can drop Annie off at her house and be over there in fifteen minutes." 

"Sounds good." 

"Tell the Big Fella to hang on, I'll be there soon." 

"Will do." The smile in Logan's voice was genuine. 

Max smiled in response. "Logan…thanks." 

"Anytime, Max."   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


The three transgenics sat around Joshua's living room, munching on popcorn as they watched the waning news coverage of the "mutant hunt," smug smiles on their faces. Joshua's left shoulder was heavily bandaged, but as Logan had said, the bullet barely clipped him, and his accelerated healing would leave the injury barely noticeable after a couple of days. 

Logan and Asha had left not long after Max's frantic arrival. She hadn't quite believed Logan's assessment of Joshua's wound until she saw him with her own eyes, sitting up on his sofa, munching contentedly on one of the ham hocks Alec was always bringing him. She had rushed to his side, then given him a slow, careful hug, avoiding the white gauze wrapping on his shoulder. 

"Hey, don't I get a hug?" 

At that playful voice, Max had turned to see Alec standing behind her, wearing his usual cocky grin, his arms open in invitation. She'd surprised them both by throwing her arms tightly around his neck and giving him a hard squeeze, which he'd returned, after a moment of befuddlement. 

When they separated, she looked him squarely in the eye so he couldn't escape. "Thank you…" 

He gave her a suspicious look that clearly said, '_who are you, and what have you done with Max?_' But all he said was, "For what?" 

She shrugged, looking down at her interlaced fingers. "For being there. For helping. For risking your life…" She shrugged again. "Take your pick." 

Had she looked back up at his face, she might have seen the swift, gentle smile that flitted across his handsome features. Instead, she turned to look back at Joshua, who was accepting a glass of water and a small handful of painkillers from Asha. Had she been anything but a transgenic with augmented senses, she would have missed his quiet reply. 

"Anytime, Maxie…" 

Now, the three of them just sat, laughing at the Sector Police as they fumblingly tried to explain that, as it happened, the "missing" girl had been found safe and sound in her own home, and no trace of the "wolf-man" had been uncovered. 

"Bet it takes them a while to live this one down," Alec said smugly from his recliner, as he snatched another handful of popcorn from Max's bowl. 

Joshua looked up from his position laying on the couch, his head in Max's lap. "People gonna think this is pretty whack," he said seriously. 

Max laughingly agreed, but her reply was cut off by a sudden commotion on the television broadcast. 

"…from Channel 3, with the latest breaking news from the scene of today's 'mutant scare,'" the red-haired reporter was saying. "Apparently, authorities have discovered an unidentified man in the sewer system, who _also_ claimed to be hunting the 'wolf-man' creature. They're bringing him out now. We have word that he's anxious to give a statement to the media…" 

The camera jiggled wildly, reorienting itself on the brightly-lit manhole in the middle of the cordoned-off intersection. A pair of hands emerged from the circular pool of darkness, followed by a dark head… Two Sector Police stepped forward to help the man up off of the ladder. 

Max's jaw fell open. "_White?_" 

Alec's eyes grew wide as manhole covers themselves. "_Damn_…" he whispered. "I was expecting it to be Sketchy…" 

The three transgenics could only gape at the scene, as White was besieged by reporters, all looking to get the first crack at this man and his enigmatic 'statement,' but Ames turned unswervingly toward Channel 3's live reporting team. 

"Sir! Sir, who are you, and what were you doing in the sewers?" the red-haired woman asked loudly. "Does this have anything to do with the alleged transgenic sighting this morning?" 

The dark-eyed man turned toward the camera, as though speaking directly to the viewing audience. Max felt a foreboding chill tickle along her spine. 

"My name is Ames White." He spoke clearly, in his cold, commanding voice. "I represent a group known as the _Kariff Mo'os_. We are dedicated to the betterment of mankind—and to the goal of _protecting_ mankind from dangerous outside influences…such as the transgenics who escaped from the Manticore project." 

Max and Alec exchanged shocked glances, while Joshua stared at the screen, transfixed. 

White continued to speak, his words growing in volume and conviction. "People of Seattle—never doubt that these transgenics are _real_. The threat they post to society is _real_. They _are_ the monsters that go 'bump' in the night, and they are _no longer_ content to hide under your beds." He paused momentarily, and it seemed to the three friends that he stared right through the TV screen and directly into their eyes. "Make no mistake—this _is_ a war…and it is a war we _cannot_ afford to lose." 

Alec swallowed hard around the lump that formed suddenly in his throat. 

He and Max instinctively reached for each other's hand, as she rested her other palm on Joshua's uninjured shoulder. The three transgenics looked on in horror as their world suddenly came apart at the seams. All they had now…was each other. 

They could only hope that it would be enough.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  
  
  


Okay…I know what you guys are gonna say…but darn it, I couldn't kill her!!!! I'd be the first to admit that it was excellent, top-caliber, heart-wrenching drama…but it hurt to watch, and since this is 'Tallera's World' (TM), I decided to exercise my authority as Author and make it happen the way my optimistic sensibilities would have preferred. You guys will just have to take it on faith that the Ames White of this story is equally as evil as the Ames White we've grown to love to hate on the show… 

To wondertross, who wanted more of Joshua's POV in this chapter…well, I thought about it, but honestly, none of the Joshua-Annie scenes needed to change a whole lot, and when the did, I found it a lot more interesting to write from the POV of a blind girl. Also, I wanted to shift the focus of this chapter away from that pair a bit (unlike in the actual ep), and put it more on the two pairs that I'm writing the story about. :-) Maybe I'll put some of the later chapters in Big Fella's POV…we'll have to see! 

And to pari106, apologies if my portrayals of Logan and Asha aren't as good as they ought to be... _*hangs head in shame*_ But, to be honest...those two characters aren't the reason I watch the show. Now, can you tell which characters I _do_ spend most of my time watching, when I pop in my season 2 tapes (which is basically every night)??? ;-)   
  


Coming soon!!!!!!! 

Chapter 5 - Precious Illusions 


	6. Chapter 5 - Precious Illusions

**Author's Note:** I'm starting to get sorta lonely… _*sniffle, sniffle*_ I worked so hard on that last chapter to get it all done, and then there just wasn't the massive number of reviews I've come to crave… :~( Alright, I admit it—I'm an obsessive personality to begin with, and I've turned into a shameless review junkie over the last week or two…so _feed my new habit!!!_ ;-) 

But I _do_ thank those of you who've been religious about reviewing—Pari106, True Blue Healer, you guys are the best!!! And Dia—wow, that review was so eloquent, you ought to be writing your _own_ fic, not reading mine!!! Hugs and thanks to everybody who has reviewed…please don't stop??? :-) 

I'm refuse to be one of those writers who won't update unless they get reviews, 'cuz I just think that's kind of a schlocky way to be. I won't stoop to extorting reviews if you really don't feel like posting 'em. But I am gonna say that I've _never_ been so motivated to work on a story as I have been on this one lately, and that's 112% due to you guys and your kind words. So the more words you give me, the faster I'm likely to return the favor…kind of a _quid pro quo_, y'know? ;-)   
  
  
  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

{{Spiral}} 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

  
  
  
  


**Chapter 5 - Precious Illusions**   
  


_I've spent so long firmly looking outside me_   
_I've spent so much time living in survival mode_   


_this won't work as well as the way it once did_   
_'cuz I want to decide between survival and bliss_   
_and though I know who I'm not, I still don't know who I am_   
_but I know I won't keep on playing the victim_   


_these precious illusions in my head_   
_did not let me down when I was a kid_   
_and parting with them is like parting with a childhood best friend_   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  


When Alec's eyes opened, he realized that he was standing in the middle of the ramp just inside Jam Pony, with no recollection of how he'd gotten there. 

_Wait…where did I leave my bike?_

The ever-present drone of the TV in the corner was absent, the screen dark and dead. No daylight shone in through the small windows high over his head. The only illumination came from the lamp on Normal's desk, which spread out into a small pool of brilliance on the floor. 

_Geez, somebody's working awfully late…_

He ambled over to the dispatch window, leaning his elbow on the ledge as he surveyed the echoingly empty main room. "S'up, Normal? Where is everybody?" He turned his head to regard the thin, balding man behind the counter…and froze. 

It wasn't the fact that Normal was completely ignoring him that made Alec's breath seize in his chest—although that experience was unusual enough for the 'golden boy' of Jam Pony. Nor was it the fact that Normal was jotting his usual chicken-scratch notes on his own arm, with a buzzing tattoo needle. 

No…what really got the X5's attention was the oversized barcode staring back at him from the vast, oily expanse of Normal's forehead. 

_Alec's own barcode._

As he stared at the random assortment of black lines marching across the other man's skin like a model regiment in some tiny ant army, the lines began to shift and blur, morphing…changing from a barcode ending in "494" to something else…someone else. He blinked, hard. The marks didn't go away, and his Manticore training kicked in a moment later, reminding him how to read the number. 

But it wasn't a number…it was a word. 

_Ordinary_, the barcode read. 

Alec's eyes hurt just from looking at it. It taunted him in cadence with the blood pounding horribly in his ears, with promises of all the everyday human dreams and aspirations that he could never hope to hold as his own. _494 cannot be Ordinary_, it sang shrilly, like the buzzing of the tattoo needle, or a whole hive of wasps, stinging his senses. _You will never have a normal life… You will never be anything but a freak…_

His breathing came hard and fast, and he pressed the heel of his hand to his own forehead, trying to slow the flood of emotions surging in his blood down to a trickle, but to no avail. He could only stare, wide-eyed, at the glaring black stripes laughing at him from his boss' skin…and the longer he stared, the larger and more threatening they seemed to grow. Like claws slashing at his eyeballs, ripping them from their sockets… He could only watch in terror as a single drop of sweat rolled down Normal's brow, straight down one of the widest lines, like a tear… 

_You are an anomaly… The World will never accept you… You will die squirming in the dust like your brother, and no one will mourn…_

Alec snapped. 

With an inarticulate cry of anguish and rage, he lunged across the counter to grab Normal by his faded shirtfront, dragging him from behind the desk. He whirled around and shoved the older man away, but Normal—who was definitely _not_ ignoring him anymore—had the misfortune to stumble backwards over a protruding tree root. He fell on his butt, the leaf-strewn dirt doing little to break his fall. 

_Wait…where…?_

Sunlight filtering through the branches high overhead only made the desperate fear on Normal's face more plain. He never said a word as he crab-walked backwards, trying to escape… 

_No, no escape…you can never escape it…_

There was a mad, demonic light in Alec's eyes as he pounced on Normal's prone form like a savage jungle cat. He gripped the terrified man's face in one steely hand, so that his chin rested in Alec's palm, and his lips pursed out like a fish from the pressure on his cheeks. 

Alec brought his own face down, until it was just inches above his victim's. "Leave…me…_alone!_" The words ripped themselves from the X5's throat like shards of glass. He tasted his own blood—_Ben's blood_—on his tongue. 

With a single, vicious twist of his wrist and a sick, crunching sound, Normal's neck snapped.   
  


~*~*~*~*~*~ 

_A young boy, in a grey room. The others look on in delight as he molds his hands into exotic shapes. Shadows on the wall…a butterfly flaps past. For a moment, it blocks their view of the word "duty." A flash of color in a grey room. A young girl's smile._

~*~*~*~*~*~   
  


When Alec's eyes opened, he realized that he was standing in the entryway of Logan's apartment, with no recollection of how he'd gotten there. 

_Wait…_

The ever-present _ticketty-tick_ of fingertips on a keyboard was absent, the overhead lights dark. The only illumination came from the screen of a single computer monitor in Logan's office. 

_Geez, somebody's working awfully late…_

He ambled over to the office doorway, leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb as he surveyed the airy room. "S'up, Logan? Got some big Eyes Only thing going down?" He turned his head to regard the handsome, unshaven man at the computer…and froze. 

It wasn't the fact that Logan was completely ignoring him that made Alec's breath seize in his chest—it was no secret that the guy didn't much care for him. Nor was it the fact that the older man was steadily feeding uncooked spaghetti noodles into the CD drive in front of him. 

No…what really got the X5's attention was the oversized barcode staring back at him from beneath the shaggy fringe of Logan's hair. 

_Alec's own barcode._

Then the awful black marks seemed to run like chalk drawings in the rain…changing from a barcode ending in "494" to something else…someone else. 

_Honorable_, the barcode read. 

_494 cannot be Honorable_, the tattoo snickered at him with terrible precision. _You will never make a difference in the World… You will never be anything but a killing machine, bred to murder…_

_You are a worthless hunk of flesh… You are not truly alive… You slaughter without remorse because you were made to, because you have no soul…_

_You can never escape it…_

"Leave…me…_alone!_" 

A few moments later, Logan's lifeless corpse joined Normal's beneath the scenic forest canopy.   
  


~*~*~*~*~*~ 

_Shadows on the wall. Duty beyond butterflies. A flash of color. A young girl's smile._

~*~*~*~*~*~   
  


When Alec's eyes opened, he realized that he was standing at the bar in Crash, with no recollection of how he'd gotten there. 

Sketchy stood at the pool table, lining up his shot. The pool cue to the cue ball to the eight ball, a perfectly precise line, like… 

…the lines on his forehead, black as the endless spaces between the stars. 

_Friendly_, Sketchy's barcode read, and it did not save him. 

_494 cannot be Friendly… You destroy everything you touch… You will die forgotten and alone…_

_You can never escape it…_

"Leave…me…_alone!_"   
  


~*~*~*~*~*~ 

_Shadows on the wall. Color. A young girl's smile._

~*~*~*~*~*~   
  


_Responsible,_ Asha's tattoo chittered. 

_494 cannot be Responsible for anyone but itself,_ came the now-predictable taunt. _You are useless… You can never be trusted… You are a time-bomb, a trigger waiting for a finger…_

_You can never escape it…_

"Leave…me…_alone!_"   
  


~*~*~*~*~*~ 

_A young girl's smile._

~*~*~*~*~*~   
  


When Alec's eyes opened, he realized that he was standing atop the Space Needle, with no recollection of how he'd gotten there. 

Max, sitting in her usual position near the edge, turned to look up at him over her shoulder. His barcode on her face…shifting…becoming… 

_Caring_, her forehead screamed soundlessly. Her eyes were soft, comforting. 

His nerves jangled madly—like a guitar with broken strings, or a soul torn loose from its moorings. _494 cannot Care, cannot feel… You are a hollow shell… You cannot love… You can only hurt… You do not belong in the World…_

Alec's hand clenched around her face, but the green-hued sunlight beneath the trees revealed no fear in Max's eyes. Her strength was easily a match for his own, but she did not move to fight him. 

_You can never escape it…_

"Leave…me…_alone!_" 

She just watched the battle raging in his eyes, a clash of titans too potent to be played out in the physical realm of the waking World. There was compassion in her gaze as she watched him struggle, and then her lips parted, speaking the first words to reach his ears since he had first opened his eyes. 

"Let me help." 

It was as if the sound of another human voice was a sledgehammer, and he was a pane of glass. He was cracking, flying apart, thousands of tiny slivers shattering into fragmented specks, razor edges slashing every tree, every leaf, every blade of grass into bloody ribbons. The forest fell away in shreds, like a tattered cloak, to reveal the top of the Space Needle beneath. 

He let go of her face, watching as she stretched her neck slightly—a silent reprimand for pinching her fragile flesh so uncomfortably. 

He watched his hands shake, and felt utterly helpless to stop the tremors that wracked him. 

_No more…not again…!_

Without another thought, Alec turned his back on Max and threw himself off of the top of the Space Needle, to see if he would fly…or fall.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  


Alec sat up with a gasp, eyes flying open in horror, breathing ragged and shaky. He clutched desperately at the sheets, and his heart skipped and thudded uncomfortably in his chest. 

He was sitting in his own bed…his own room… 

And he remembered getting there. Remembered leaving Joshua's house, remembered coming home, showering…going to bed. 

_That same fucking dream…_ he thought miserably. _Why can't it just let me be? Why can't the World just leave me alone?_

And somewhere deep inside Alec's tortured breast, a tiny spark flared...and grew brighter.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  


_you'll complete me, right? then my life can finally begin?_   
_I'll be worthy, right? only when you realize the gem I am_   
__

_this won't work now the way it once did_   
_and I won't keep it up, even though I would love to_   
_once I know who I'm not, then I'll know who I am_   
_but I know I won't keep on playing the victim_   


_these precious illusions in my head_   
_did not let me down when I was defenseless_   
_and parting with them is like parting with invisible best friends_   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  


Asha only saw the sun rise when the S1W's plans demanded it, or when her thoughts were in such turmoil that they would not let her rest. 

The rest of the S1W were sleeping in this morning. 

All the same, at times like this, she considered herself lucky to have found an apartment—or rather, an unoccupied tenement building to squat in—that boasted east-facing windows, because there was just nothing quite like a sunrise, for helping her sort things out 'upstairs' when they got too cluttered. 

_So why isn't it helping, then?_ A little voice spoke up mockingly in the back of her head. 

She sighed heavily. The little voice was right. She got up from her seat at the window and went to make a pot of strong coffee. A draft stole into the room from beneath the closed door and caressed her skin through her thin T-shirt and sleeping shorts, making her shiver. 

_The problem_, she thought, as she grabbed a mostly-clean mug from the counter next to the sink, _is that the problem's not really in my head. It just **is**. And the only thing that's gonna fix it…is time._

The gas stovetop caught the flame on her second try, and she put the pot of water on it to heat. A snatch of mostly-forgotten verse floated aimlessly through her head. _If we had but worlds enough, and time…_

Yeah, time was the kicker, wasn't it? Always too much, or not enough. Too much time that Logan and Max spent dancing around each other…not enough time, once they figured out how they felt…too much time, once the virus arrived on the scene…not enough time, when they'd defeated it for twelve hours. 

And never, _ever_ enough time for Asha to get used to the perpetual limbo state in which they lived their relationship. 

It seemed like everytime she'd start to get over him, things between him and Max would always fall apart. And suddenly, her traitorous heart would start spinning all the same silken fantasies all over again—despite the sharp threats from her much-more-sensible brain—and the 'life without Logan' mosaic she'd barely begun to assemble with such care would fall entirely to pieces. 

_It's just not fair…_

She kept trying to convince herself that wanting to be happy did _not_ make her a horrible person. Even when it made her miserable to contemplate, she truly wished her friends every joy that life had to offer. But there was always that traitorous, selfish part of her, that couldn't help wondering _what if…_

_What if Max just stopped loving him? Or left town?_

_What if they finally decided it wasn't worth the risk to his life?_

_What if Max finally got herself killed? For **real**, this time?_

The instant she caught herself thinking those things, she felt _awful_—like she ought to wash her brain out with the really harsh lye soap the homeless guys sold on the street corners. _There's just not enough happiness in this broken world to go around…_

And now…now it was almost worse than before. 

Because _now_ Asha had to face the fact that it wasn't because of _Max_ that she couldn't be with Logan. After all, the two of them were supposedly over. As a couple, they were done. History. Completely kaput…   
  


~*~*~*~*~*~ 

_Asha shook her head, smiling humorlessly at Alec. "Spare me the drama—you're just to scared to let go and actually care about somebody."_

~*~*~*~*~*~   
  


She shook her head ruefully at that memory. 

_That's not quite it,_ she mused, frowning at the pot of water that stubbornly refused to boil. _I mean, I **do** care about Logan…but he was always…_

"Safe." She startled herself by speaking the word out loud. 

It was true, she realized. She was no less petrified of getting involved in a real relationship than Alec was, but instead of pushing away anyone she might one day come to care about, she had latched on to the one person she knew she couldn't have. It was _safe_ to love Logan, because she would never have to _do_ anything about it… 

_Which, unfortunately, doesn't make it any easier to **stop**…_

Because suddenly it wasn't so safe anymore. Oh, sure…it was still possible that he and Max would work things out, just like they had a thousand times over the last several months…but something in Asha's gut told her that this time, their break-up was the real thing. _Logan said they talked, and they were both okay with it…and he sounded so sad, so…final._

She could remember a time when it had been enough just to be around him…just to earn his smiles, and hear his voice speak her name… _Why couldn't it stay that way? Why did I have to get so greedy?_

_Why did he suddenly have to be **available???**_

Or was she just making this all more complicated than it really was? After all, he'd never given any indication of being even the _slightest_ bit interested in her…and why would he? There had always and only been Max, in his eyes. 

Asha was startled out of her mental ramblings by the burgeoning whistle of the pot on the stove, which was bubbling merrily. It seemed to mock her apathy with its liveliness, and she suddenly decided that she _definitely_ needed that coffee. With _lots_ of sugar. 

_I can be an adult about this. No, really…!_

Nothing had really changed. She still loved him, and he would still never return her affections…and she would still not demand it. The break-up was still too fresh. The last thing Logan needed was another bruise, and the last thing she wanted was to cause him one. She resolved to continue as she always had…to be exactly as much as he asked her to be, and not press for more. 

_Yeah, because it's just **so** easy to turn my feelings on and off like that…_ The little voice was feeling sarcastic now. 

With short _huff_ of a sigh, Asha moved back toward the window as she stirred her coffee. The sun was fully risen by now, promising another usually bright, clear day. The thin fluffs and scraps of cloud overhead had dimmed from their earlier brilliant orange to more of a dull beige…just as the cacophony between her ears had been muted down to its usual mumble. 

_Guess that's the most I can ask of any sunrise,_ she thought ruefully. _Or any cup of coffee, for that matter…_

_…just a little more time to think._   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  
  


_Please_ review????? :-) Let me know if I did any better with Asha this time…honestly, I feel like I just can't get a good grasp on how she ought to think and act…other than the fact that she's always struck me as sort of insecure…like she's got a lot more going on in her head than she'll admit to, and isn't sure what to do about it, y'know what I mean? Any insights anyone can give me regarding her characterization would be much appreciated…and any other comments, too! ;-)   
  


Coming soon!!!!!!! 

Chapter 6 - Little Rejections 


	7. Chapter 6 - Little Rejections

**Author's Note:** *gasp* So…many…reviews… 

_I LOVE IT!!!!!!!!_ :-) :-) :-) :-) 

You guys rock—_really!!!_ *contented sigh* I feel loved again…although a bit guilty. Honestly, I didn't mean to whine and complain and be obnoxious…but this whole "review" thing is just so damned _cool_—I'm totally addicted. When I finally finish this story (quite a while from now, since there are fourteen chapters and an epilogue in the Grand Scheme), I'm gonna have to find a new muse fast, cuz otherwise I'm gonna go into withdrawal, and that's _not_ gonna be pretty… 

ANYwho, _thanks so much_ to everyone who's been so sweetly reviewing, especially the Repeat Reviewers—you know who you are!!! ;-) You guys are the best! 

And for those of you (Baloo?) who were wondering how in the frilly heck I'm managing to update so fast…it's very simple. Basically everybody who's anybody in the administrative upper echelon of my company are all in Hawaii this week (it was a corporate sales-incentive kinda deal), which means that my two bosses, their bosses, and their bosses' bosses are all AWOL—leaving me with lots and lots of time, no work to do, and a computer in front of me… You do the math. ;-) _But_—I have plans all day Saturday (mini Star Trek convention—yay!), and all the big dogs will be back to work on Monday, so I'm sad to say that the updates will have to be spaced a bit farther apart after this one. Don't despair, though!!! I won't forget you guys (remember: review addiction is a _good_ thing!), and I _will _keep writing—it'll just take a little longer. 

Now, buckle your seatbelts, and get ready for another pile o' angst, DA style ('cuz it's just so much _fun!_)… ;-)   
  
  
  
  
  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

{{Spiral}} 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

  
  
  
  


**Chapter 6 - Little Rejections**   
  


_when will I stop leaving, baby?_   
_when will I stop deserting, baby?_   
_when will I start staying with myself?_   


_all these little rejections—how they add up quickly_   
_one small sideways look, and I feel so ungood_   


_all these little projections—how they fail to serve me_   
_your hand pulling away, and I'm devastated_   


_all these little rejections—how they disappear quickly_   
_the moment I decide not to abandon me_   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  


"Aiight, boo—give it to Original Cindy, shtraight up. What's your drama?" 

The two girls had been pedaling in silence for several blocks, and Max had become so lost in the maze of her own thoughts that the sound of OC's voice startled her. Her arms jerked slightly on the handlebars, sending her veering out into the thick mid-morning traffic for a moment before she corrected her course. 

Dark brown eyes glanced at her sidelong, before refocusing on the sidewalk ahead. "L'il jumpy this mornin'?" 

Max could practically feel her face tense, like a thin layer of ice slipping over her features, and when she spoke, her tone was curt. "You could say that." 

Her roommate nodded serenely, shrugging slightly to readjust the backpack full of 'hot run' packages that rested against her shoulders. "Yestaday's sewer-crawl dealio still got you freaked, huh?" 

Max sighed inwardly. Cindy had an unerring sense that told her when Max was unhappy, and she could be as tenacious as a terrier—_nasty, yippy little rat-dog things!_—when it came to ferreting out the cause. Over the years, Max had learned that it was usually easier to simply yield to the inevitable and confide in her best friend. Otherwise, she'd end up on the receiving end of one of OC's infamous threats to 'put the smack down on yo ass'—and although Max was pretty sure she could take her, it was a theory she'd never particularly cared to test. 

"Yeah, I guess—I mean, we got _really_ lucky," she responded slowly, as they weaved unerringly through the pedestrian traffic with an ease born of long practice. "If anything had gone wrong, White would've had us all. But…" 

"But _what_?" OC's tone was derisive, but her face was gentle. "On top of them breedin' cult wack-jobs, th' whole 'transgenic scare' this city got goin', your no-deal wit Logan, an' Joshua almos' gettin' hisself killed…you got somethin' _else_ you worryin' about? _Damn_, girl…it's a wonder yo head don' explode, all that shit you got bouncin' around in there…" She shook her head ruefully, a swish of brown ringlets beneath her brightly-colored knit cap. "C'mon, now—tell it t' Original Cindy. It ain't doin' you no good turnin' it over an' over—just goin' in circles." 

Max had to smile slightly at that. _When the girl's got a point, she's got a point._ A faint crease appeared between her dark eyebrows, warring with the upturned corners of her lips, as she tried to frame the words to describe her nebulous fears. The frown won out over the smile as she opened her mouth to speak, but OC held up a hand, bringing her bike to a halt as she signaled to Max to wait. Max hit her brakes, as well, coming to a stop alongside her friend. 

"Hold that thought, boo," Cindy said earnestly. "If we don' get these babies—" she cocked a thumb over her shoulder at the contents of her backpack, "—out to their anxiously waitin' mommas, Normal's gonna be all over our asses, big time." She rolled her eyes expressively. "An' I don' think I wanna have this talk on wheels, so…whaddya say we finish up, head over t' Crash, an' chat dis bitch up right?" 

Max's grin swiftly reclaimed the facial territory lost to the frown. "Sounds like a plan," she replied. _And maybe by then, I can figure out how to say it all…'cuz right now, I'm not even sure how to **think** it and have it make sense…_   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  


An hour later, she stared blankly into her glass of beer, no closer to having a rational explanation for the odd fluttering in her gut. OC sat facing her across the booth, leaning both forearms along the edge of the table as she waited for her friend to put her thoughts in order. 

After several long moments of silence, Max sighed heavily. "I don't know…what my problem is." She shook her head. "I feel all _twitchy_, like I know a storm's coming and I'm standing out in the middle of a field, or something wack like that," she said slowly, her face twisting in frustration, "like I can feel something coming that I have to run from, or hide from. But it's _more_ than that, somehow. 'Cuz I've been running and hiding since forever, and it never felt like this." 

Original Cindy looked at her compassionately. "Yeah, but you never come up against somebody like White before, sugah. I mean, that other guy—Ly-dickhead or whatever—he jus' wanted you back. Dis new bad boy wants you _dead_. 'S enough t' get any girl growin' eyes in th' back of her head." 

Max shook her head, becoming more animated as she tried to make the other woman understand. "That's the thing, OC—it's not _really_ White and his shit that's getting to me. It's like…if it was _just_ that stuff, I could deal…but there's something on _top_ of that…" Her eyes narrowed as she scoured her brain for any inkling of the mysteries locked inside her well-fortified skull. 

Cindy's voice was frank. "'S it yo thing wit Logan?" 

Max suppressed the reflexive urge to dismiss that possibility immediately, and reluctantly examining it for a moment. Claiming that her break-up with Logan was the cause of her unease didn't feel quite right…but it wasn't entirely off-base, either…like it was related, somehow… 

She ambushed that tiny clue, plotting to throttle it mercilessly until it squeaked and begged to confess. "Not exactly…" she responded uncertainly to OC's question, trailing off into silence as she fixedly prowled the dark alleyways of her mind. 

_Why bother?_ snickered a small voice tucked away in a shadowy corner. _She'll never really understand. She's not like you. There's no one else like you…no one who will understand. You're all alone…_

_That_ thought made her blink. It tasted familiar—like worry, and despair…and that unidentifiable sizzle that was setting her nerves on edge. _Ah HA!_ She pounced on that stray voice, sinking triumphant mental fangs into it and listening to it squeal with grim satisfaction. _Gotcha!_

"I think…it's like I've got nowhere left to turn," she said thoughtfully, sounding out the words as she spoke them, testing them for their truth. "I mean, I made a _choice_ to end it with Logan, and I still think it was the right thing to do…but now that's one less thing I can count on if I get backed into a corner, y'know? I closed that door for a reason…and I feel like if I ask too much from him, I'll just be _begging_ for it to open up again when I'm not looking. And then we'll be right back where we started!" 

Original Cindy nodded, frowning. "Aiight, I get ya there," she said. "But you got more goin' for you than jus' Logan, boo! You got me…Joshua…your boy Alec…" She ticked each name off on her long fingers. 

At the sound of her friend's words, Max felt the hollow ache in her gut blossom. "See, that's just _it_," she broke in anxiously. "It seems like the others—not you, but Joshua and Alec—are…withdrawing, somehow. Growing apart, maybe?" She took a careful breath, struggling to explain herself while fending off the delicate tendril of fear wrapping around her heart. "Things between me and Alec were actually alright for a while, but now he's all closed off again—you saw how he was acting yesterday morning… Well, today when he came in he looked like death warmed-over, and even more distant. And Joshua's all holed-up in his house with his paintings, and moping about putting Annie in danger and not being able to see her, and he just_ won't_ snap out of it…" As she went on, Max could almost feel the air being sucked out of the booth—the more she thought about this, the more panic seemed to foam up into her throat. 

"They're all fading away from me, OC…" she said miserably. "I pushed Logan away, and now everyone else is deserting me, too—and I can't handle all the rest of this stuff on my own!" She was horrified to feel tears stinging her eyes, and willed them back. "I spent so many years, always alone and running…but I don't think I can live like that anymore…!" 

"Hey—" Two cocoa-skinned hands shot across the table, latching on to Max's trembling ones with a grip of steel and perfumed satin. "You listen up good, girl! First of all," Cindy directed one long-nailed finger firmly toward Max's nose as she spoke, "you gotta come correct on this: you ain't _never_ gonna be alone, 'cuz I _always_ got yo back." She shrugged in momentary self-deprecation. "I know I ain't got yo revved-up genes, but Original Cindy ain't no whinin' pansy-ass, neither!" 

OC grinned when that remark earned her a very small smile from Max. "An' as fo' yo boys," she went on gently, "I'm bettin' that you been chewin' on dis all by yoself, an' never told 'em…" When Max wouldn't meet her eyes, she nodded to herself. "Talk to 'em, boo! They in th' same mess as you, an' prob'ly feelin' jus' as wacked out—but ain't nobody gonna get any better if y'all don' get it _together!_" 

Max watched as her best friend raised her glass and drained the last drops of alcohol from its depths. "Now," she said, after swallowing, "you get yo ass over to Doggy-Dog's crib, sit him down, an' give it to 'im shtraight. Y'all are _family_—you gotta stick together through dis bitch." She grinned widely as a wicked twinkle lit her dark eyes. "An' then you track down yo boy, an' spend some quality time kickin' his ass fo' havin' his head up it." 

Max had to laugh out loud at that. She cocked her head to one side. "Wow…just thinking about it, I feel better already," she joked, mirroring OC's devious grin. 

"You three 'freaks' come correct, an' there ain't nothin' y'all can't beat," Cindy said seriously, an affectionate smile on her face. "Go talk t' yo boys, I'll cover with Normal." She slid out of the booth and stood up, prompting her companion to do the same. 

Max just smiled at her for a moment. "Thanks, OC," she said sincerely, pulling her best friend into a quick, hard hug. "I can always count on you to have your head on straight, even when the rest of us are all outta wack—what would I do without you?" 

Cindy pulled back, raising her finger between them again. "Hey now, boo—no need t' be insultin' me…callin' me _shtraight_," she teased. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Max responded, shrugging into her jacket. "Next time we're here, I'll make it up to you— scrounge you up a nice honey." 

"Original Cindy rather find her _own_ sugah-honeys," was the sassy reply, "thanks all th' same." 

Max could only shake her head and grin. "I'm gonna blaze, then. I'll try to call if I'm gonna be very late tonight…" Her voice trailed off as she moved away toward the door of the club. 

Cindy's eyes followed her, affection and concern swirling together in her gaze. _You come correct wit **yoself**, boo...an' on that day, ain't nothin' in this crazy World gonna touch you…_   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  


Several sectors away, a thin, nervous-looking man walked into a dim, greasy bar. His wing-tips were well-shined, his neatly-trimmed mustache was combed just so, and the material of his dark business suit showed no signs of thinning at the knees or elbows. The man swallowed convulsively, feeling horribly out-of-place in such a _crass_ establishment, but there was a glow of anticipation in his eyes that even the haze of smoke hanging in the air—from cigarettes and cigars, as well as other, less legal narcotics—could not dim. 

His name was William H. Leakey III, and he was about to come face to face with his own, personal Deep Throat. 

As his eyes adjusted to the low light, Bill scanned the few patrons clustered around tables stained by age and scarred by the graffiti carved into every wood surface within reach. He was looking for the object his Deep Throat had promised to carry, so he could recognize the informant he'd never met… 

_There!_ At the booth in the far corner, a man sat with his back to the door. Resting on the table by his elbow, in a hollow carved out of the wood by some ambitious 'artist' with a pocketknife, was a single, enormous marble—a white 'cat's eye,' almost an inch and a half across. 

Straightening his bow tie and swallowing once more, he made his way through the maze of tables and chairs to the stranger's table. He cleared his throat timidly, and spoke up in a thin, nasal voice. "Ahh, excuse me, sir…may I presume that you are the gentleman I am to meet?" 

The man turned his head to look up at Bill, who felt a sudden chill run down his spine. The man's eyes and hair were dark, his face creased and pinched-looking beneath thick, ominous eyebrows. The first thought to cross the reporter's mind was, _sneaky looking…like a weasel…or is 'slimy' maybe a better word? _No matter how he chose to phrase it, he was left with an almost palpable sense that this man was not someone to be trifled with. 

He was _dangerous_. 

"That depends…" the dark man replied slowly, his vowels flattened slightly by a faint accent that Bill couldn't immediately identify. "…on who's asking," he finished, eyes narrowing, a look of appraisal on his unsmiling face. 

"Ah, me? Oh, yes—that is…Bill Leakey," he stuttered, shoving his hand forward awkwardly in greeting. "Channel 3, investigative reporter." 

"White," the stranger responded, ignoring the other man's outstretched hand to turn back toward the table. 

Bill stood uncertainly for a moment, then hesitantly took a seat across the table. "So…you did ask to meet with me?" 

The appraising look was back, as White steepled his index fingers against his lips, elbows resting comfortably on the table. "I did." 

The newsman let out a nervous breath, relieved and excited by the opportunity to finally forge a real connection with this man…who had known so much about the new transgenic threat, and had been so willing to share that knowledge—at such a low price, too…! And _now_, White had promised him a new 'angle'—some tantalizing and totally classified information about a mysterious new player in the transgenic drama, a group by the name of the _Kariff Mo'Os_… 

Bill was practically salivating with anticipation. After all, hadn't he become a journalist for just this reason—to be the first to know about things, to uncover the most shocking headlines before anyone else even suspected them, and astound the world with his near-omniscience? Thanks to 'White,' he might finally be getting his chance…! 

"Ah, well…good, then!" He pulled a portable recording device from one inside pocket of his suit jacket, and a small steno notebook from another. "I've got a few questions, if you…" 

White didn't let him finish. He laid one hand over the recorder, and Bill was unsettled all over again, by the cool, leathery feel of the other man's skin. _Like a snake…_

"No recordings." 

The nervous reporter's mouth fell open. "B-but…how do you expect me to take your statement, make my notes…?" 

The grin White turned on him was almost feral. "The old-fashioned way," he said, pulling a pre-pulse ball-point pen from his pocket and offering it to the discomfited journalist. "And as soon as the story goes to print, you will _burn _all of your notes…drafts…_everything_. Once this news becomes public, I don't want _any_ evidence of this conversation, other than what I can read on the newsstand." The words unrolled from his tongue in a gruff but quiet tone, which nevertheless had a steel thread at its core. "If you want more, we can meet again. Got it?" 

Bill blinked, swallowed twice, and nodded without speaking. 

White almost laughed at the abject fear in the sniveling reporter's wide eyes as he accepted the terms of the deal. The man was a pathetic worm…but even worms could be useful, if properly groomed to their purpose. 

_And they **do** make excellent bait…the perfect bait for my hook._

"So," White continued, as Leakey struggled to uncap the unfamiliar writing instrument. "What do you want to know?"   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  


"_Joshua?_" 

Max carefully let herself into the dilapidated old mansion, her nose assaulted by the usual overpowering scents of mildew, turpentine, and sweaty dog. _One of these days, you'd think I'd get used to that smell…_

Her call was rewarded with a mournful, "Here, L'il Fella," from the living room. 

She paused in the doorway to take in the scene. Joshua was kneeling on his shins in the middle of the floor, ass resting on his misshapen feet, surrounded by images of Annie. Annie smiling…Annie crying…Annie with her hair in a ponytail at the nape of her neck…Annie with her hair falling in a wild halo of dark ringlets around her head…Annie sitting…standing…dancing…reading…grooming Billie… 

The paintings weren't quite of Joshua's usual caliber—but that was forgivable, considering that all seventeen works had been completed within the past three days. But every image boasted the same almost-beautiful face, on a backdrop of either white canvas, or a particular dull-greenish tint that perfectly complimented the color of the girl's startling tawny eyes. Max suspected that, given enough time and paint, _all_ the Annies would be given the same background hue. 

_And he hasn't moved since last night when I left…_ The object of Joshua's thoughts was patently obvious, but Max hated to see him so…so _diminished_ by his first real experience of the World, beyond this house of sanctuary that Max had helped him to create. 

"Hey, Big Fella…" she offered weakly. Beyond that, she wasn't sure what to say. What she _really_ wanted to do was grab his meaty shoulders and _shake_ him until he woke up and realized that his life wasn't over, but even Max—who could usually be counted on to _react_ first, _act_ second, and _think_ only a very distant third—could see that that might do more harm than good. "I thought I'd spend some time with you this afternoon…maybe teach you how to cook something besides mac n' cheese…I could even sit for you, if you're really nice to me…" 

Joshua had been trying to get Max to let him paint her portrait for _months_. Almost from the first day he discovered his artistic talent, he had been manufacturing excuses to get her to his house, only to assail her with whines, pleas and puppy-dog eyes. He'd had no luck so far—Max was remarkably resistant to puppy-dog eyes. 

She wasn't stupid, of course—she was fairly certain that somewhere amid his first twenty or thirty works, there were a couple of abstract pieces that were supposed to be 'Max,' in the same way that his first painting had been 'Father,' and _Joshua #57_ was supposedly 'Alec.' 

But that didn't mean she was gonna let him paint her actual _face_. 

For one thing, it was too dangerous. She didn't want anybody to have random pictures of the transgenic currently topping Mr. Ames White's 'most wanted' list sitting around the house…even if that house _was_ the home of another transgenic. Over the years since her first escape from Manticore, she'd gotten accustomed to avoiding things that might capture her likeness—security cameras, hover drones…even vanity mirrors, which might mask hidden security devices. _True_, that was partly because she was often in the midst of some illegal activity when she encountered those devices…but still, it was a habit that she wasn't sure she ought to break. After all, White was no less adept than Lydecker had been at tracing her whereabouts…and he was certainly no more hesitant about endangering those around her in the process! 

But aside from those merely practical concerns…she just didn't like the idea of having her picture taken. 

It wasn't vanity or any silly ideas about not being photogenic—after all, Manticore _had_ created her to be perfect, and they certainly hadn't failed her in the 'looks' department. No…there was just something unsettling about having a moment of your life forever frozen in time…even if the moment was a happy one. There was something so…_static_ and _rigid_ about the idea. The person in that picture would never change, never learn, never grow…whatever faults and foibles to which she had fallen prey, they would be there _forever_. 

It reminded her of Manticore, and the mug shots they used to take once each year for the soldiers' personnel files. Faces forever frozen, unchanging…children arrayed in precise lines, minds sterilized and regimented, raised to kill and never to care… 

Manticore would _love_ to be able to freeze their creations in a single, unfeeling instant, bound forever into the rigid, military mindset the program upheld… 

The memories made her shudder. 

And every time he asked, Max refused to let Joshua paint her portrait. 

_I might even sit for you, if you're really nice to me…_ She probably wouldn't do it, but if it served to get her friend off of his ass and back to his life, she had no qualms about using the offer as a lure. 

Today, even that promise failed to elicit a reaction from her Big Fella, as he sat gazing at the face of the girl whose blind eyes had opened his own. He just heaved another long, heavy sigh and said, "Maybe later." 

Max sat down carefully at his side, curling her ankles beneath her. "I know it hurts," she said quietly. "I know you miss her…" 

"You _don't_ know!" The words erupted from Joshua's throat with a harsh bark. "Miss her—yes! But that's not what _hurts!_" 

Max refused to be put off by his anger. It wasn't really directed at her—she just happened to be a convenient target. "I know, Joshua…really, I do…" 

He turned on her then, his eyes wild and pained, his voice a feral snarl. His kneeling form towered over her, his flattened nose less than an inch from her own as he roared at her. "_Stop_ saying you know! You _don't _know! _NO ONE knows!!_" 

She met his fierce stare with one of her own, her voice rising angrily. "You think _I_ don't know, Joshua?? That _I_ don't know what it feels like to care about someone, and not be able to be with them? You think _I_ don't get that it's not _missing _them that really hurts, but knowing that they could _DIE_—or _DID DIE_—all because of _you_??? Having to _LIVE_ with that??? Knowing that you weren't _strong_ enough, or _smart_ enough, or _fast_ enough to save them?!?" By now, she was breathing hard, shouting to hear her own words over the blood pounding in her ears. "_YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW HOW THAT FEELS?!?_" 

Then his big, gentle hands were on her shoulders, and he held her as she screamed at him, pounding feebly on the broad expanse of his chest. "I almost killed Logan_ TWICE! _I broke my own brother's neck, to save him from himself! I let another brother go home to a place he'd never been, so he could live a lie for the rest of his days! _I'VE HAD TO GIVE UP EVERY OTHER PERSON I'VE EVER LOVED!!!_Don't you _DARE_tell me that I don't know how you feel!" 

Her voice cracked on the last word, as the sudden flood of ire that had sustained her tirade dried up as swiftly as it had come upon her, leaving her feeling parched and drained. "I _know_, Joshua…I really do know… Don't make me give you up, too…please…" 

His arms enveloped her in a massive bear hug as she shook with the force of her long pent-up emotions, the tension gradually trickling from her body. Still, through all of her harsh words, and their aftermath…she would not allow herself to shed a single tear. 

When she finally stopped shaking, he spoke again, his voice rumbling close to her ear. "Sorry, L'il Fella…sorry, Max." He released her from their hug to hold her at arm's length, his large, sad eyes meeting her darker, haunted ones. "You _do_ know." 

Embarrassed by her melodramatic outburst, she almost had to laugh at that. "You better believe it, Big Fella." Swallowing hard around the lump in her throat, she looked up at him with a pleading expression. "Don't you see? This is why us 'freaks' gotta stick together—we're the only ones who'll ever understand each other." 

Joshua's eyes lit up, just as they had the time she'd first taught him that word. "_Freaks…_" he mimicked delightedly, then his grin faded. "Different…" He added sadly. 

"Different from everybody else, but the same as each other," she clarified firmly, laying her head on his massive chest and wrapping him back up in the biggest hug her smaller arms could manage. "We _belong_ together." 

He nodded. "Alec, too," he amended. "Max, Alec and Joshua stick together—that's the plan." 

Max's frown reappeared at the mention of Alec. "Yeah…I'm worried about Alec, too. He's gotta be hurting just as much as we are, but he's so much better at burying it," she mused aloud. "He says he doesn't want anybody's help…that he just wants to be left alone. But I don't know whether to believe him or not…" 

"Manticore," was Joshua's pithy response. "Made him bury things—made him dark inside." 

Max could only nod against his chest in reply.   
  


~*~*~*~*~*~ 

_"You don't know what you're talking about."_

_The bitterness in Alec's voice was a palpable thing, coiling and hissing in her ears like a snake. Max took a breath, trying to control the anger that always threatened to flare up whenever Alec started giving her his attitude. "Then explain it to me."_

_A small, unhappy smirk twisted his face as he sipped his drink. "I would, see—but you wouldn't understand. You **can't** understand; you weren't there." His tone almost convinced her that he didn't blame her for that absence, until he went on._

_"You ran," he continued, his voice thick with condemnation. "You and your little rug-rat brothers and sisters… "You think life was rough when we were ten? A little schooling, a little brainwashing, some maneuvers outside—you think **that** was tough?"_

_Max refused to rise to the bait. "Sucked pretty hard," she answered flatly._

_His shoulders were hunched as if under a massive weight, but his face was a soldier's stone façade—with his beautiful features and perfect profile, a polished Adonis in marble—as he said coldly, "Take it from me—later on, it got a whole lot worse." Downing another burning swig of alcohol, he stared into the glass as though he might glimpse all the secrets of the universe floating in its amber depths. "But…you did what you had to do—and you tried to forget. And when you couldn't forget…" he concluded, painful memories roughening his voice, "…they had ways of making you not care…"_

~*~*~*~*~*~   
  


_He's gonna try to tell me the same thing as Joshua,_ Max realized suddenly. _The 'you wouldn't understand 'cuz you aren't me' defense…I can so see that coming. But the thing is, I **do** understand. I just have to make him believe that…_

She knew she should get up. Joshua would be alright with time—_I hope_—and she needed to talk to Alec, too. _Or, according to OC, kick his ass three-quarters of the way into next week…and I'm not sure I'm up to that right now…_ She was just too drained at that moment to feel like moving. _These emotional-moment things are a real bitch…_

Joshua spoke suddenly into the long silence, his deep voice dissipating the cloud of all-too-recent memories still hanging in the air around her, clinging to her hair like the scent of turpentine clung to Joshua's. "It still hurts, Max…" 

"I know, Big Fella," she sighed tiredly. "Love still sucks."   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Okay, that turned out a bit differently than I'd originally envisioned, but I think it's better this way—what do you think? I know there was no hunka-burnin'-Alec in any of these scenes (except for the flashback), and I'm _really_ sorry about that…I missed him, too. :-( But I do solemnly swear that the next chapter's gonna make up for that—in _spades!!!!_ ;-) Again, heaps of lovin' gratitude for all the awesome reviews—and heaps more if you continue! :-)   
  


Coming soon!!!!!!! 

Chapter 7 - Hand In My Pocket 


	8. Chatper 7 - Narcissus

**Author's Note:** Yikes!!!! I'm sorry this chapter took so long!!!!!!!! :-( I mean, I _did_ warn you guys that the pace was gonna slow down, but I didn't intend for it to be such a drastic deceleration… Bad, _bad_ Tallera!!! _BAD!!!!!_ :-( 

Basically, work this week has been nuts, with both of my bosses back from sunnier latitudes—they just have **_NO_** appreciation for the importance of fanfic in some people's lives!!!! Plus, I've been re-watching first season Dark Angel (_thank you, Denise—you rock!!!_), partly in hopes of getting some better insight into Logan before I had to write him again. Sadly, the _actual_ result was twofold and icky: (a) the general Jensen-free tenor of the first season (except "Pollo Loco," which gets creepier and more dramatic and touching every time I watch it) seems to have snatched away my most important muse and virtually epoxied this chapter to the inside of my skull—making it very difficult to get out!—and (b) I've found myself snarking on Logan even more than I did before, to my own chagrin. 

*sigh* I've been trying _so hard_ to **_not_** become one of those M/A 'shippers who has to suppress homicidal urges every time Logan pops up on the screen…but I think I'm slowly losing ground to my internal happy-go-lucky sociopath… 

But all of that's neither here nor there. The ending of this story has been set in stone basically from day one, so none of these intervening oddities have changed it in the slightest (although the unexpected epoxy situation has obviously delayed it more than _any_ of us would have liked). 

So again, please accept my humblest apologies for being a putz with writer's block. :-P And I hope this chapter is good enough to be worth the ice-pick I had to stick in one ear to finally tease it out of my brain… ;-)   
  
  
  
  
  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

{{Spiral}} 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

  
  
  
  


**Chapter 7 - Narcissus**   
  


_I'm high, but I'm grounded_   
_I'm sane, but I'm overwhelmed_   
_I'm lost, but I'm hopeful, baby_   


_I care, but I'm restless_   
_I'm here, but I'm really gone_   
_I'm wrong, and I'm sorry, baby_   


_I'm sad, but I'm laughing_   
_I'm brave, but I'm chickenshit_   
_I'm sick, but I'm pretty, baby_   


_and what it all comes down to_   
_is that everything's gonna be quite alright_   
_'cuz I've got one hand in my pocket_   
_and the other one is playing a piano_   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  


It was amazing, really…just how fascinating the television screen could be, when the damned thing wasn't even on. 

Alec sat lifelessly on his threadbare sofa, forearms resting heavily on his knees, hands dangling limply at the wrist as his eyes contemplated the dark screen with a glazed expression. All the while, his genetically-enhanced intellect counted each and every one of the fifty thousand four hundred eighty-three seconds that had passed since he sat down. He hadn't moved so much as a muscle since that morning, when he'd plopped down into his current position, after waking up from the dream. 

_Don't think about the dream. Don't think about Max. Don't think about Rachel. Don't think about anything…._

_Maybe if I sit here long enough, the World will forget I exist, and I won't have to worry about hurting another person I care about…_

_It really does all come down to nature versus nurture, doesn't it…_

Just how much of Ben did he carry around with him, hidden deep in some unexplored fissure of his fractured soul? Just how much would it take to bring that snarling, slavering monster out of its dank cave, to ravage anything and everything he had come to cherish? 

He could feel it, even now…pacing deep within himself, testing the strength of the barriers he had erected to keep it tamed… 

He had tried so hard to kill it, to snuff that dark flame that dimmed his heart…the evil glow that he now realized was actually the light of that feral creature's eyes…but no matter how fast his mind sped, or how ruthlessly it searched in the dark corners and dank alleyways of his psyche…always, the black beast that his own flawed genes had spawned was faster, more clever. It continued eluding him, and he continued worrying that one day it would catch him unawares. 

He didn't worry for himself—he'd done enough of _that_ in his short time in the World to last for the rest of his lifetime, however long or short a time that might be. The thought that truly haunted him was, if the beast ever broke free, that his friends would suffer. 

_Everything I touch, dies…everyone I care about, I wound…_

Of course, it all began with Rachel. He often thought that everything in his life that was true and honest, had begun with her…and the fact that his touch was poison was no less true than the fact that he had been bred to destroy. In fact, those two truths were probably one and the same… 

But even after Rachel—after Manticore had tried to break him, and he'd learned the cocky façade that had melded so seamlessly with his true face that he could no longer tell where one ended and the other began—even when he'd met Max, he hadn't known how deadly he could be. Manticore might have injected her with the virus, but he was the one who stood in Logan's office and gloated while the other man writhed helplessly on the floor…who watched the anguish bloom in her eyes as she snatched her hands away from her love's touch…who tried to force her to return to the place she hated above all others, all the while hiding behind the flimsy excuse of being 'under orders'… 

His stomach roiled, at the memory of all the pain he'd caused her, over the past seven months. 

_Only seven months…two hundred twelve days…five thousand eighty-eight hours…three hundred five thousand, two hundred eighty minutes…_

_And every one of them a small torture for her, to see me, and know just how much she's lost…just how much I've cost her…_

Each minute, a reminder of the brother she'd been forced to kill in order to save—both from Lydecker, and from himself… 

Each minute, a reminder of the five large she'd paid in exchange for his life—_blood money…oh Max, I'm so sorry_—at the cost of her relationship with Logan… 

Each minute, a reminder of a whole World of agony that he'd made no easier, with his taunting, his wisecracks, and his every breath… 

_I could live a thousand lives, and never begin to make it up to her, for all the pain I've brought…_

His hours-long tableau of utter stillness was broken by a single, sorrowful tear that slipped silently from his left eye. It slid haltingly, apologetically down his cheek, to stop near the corner of his mouth. It dried there, after a few moments, until all that remained was the bitter trail of salt across his skin, like the tracks of a multitude of regrets across his soul. 

His presence was poisonous. There was no denying that. 

If he truly cared about her…about any of them…he had to let them go. 

It was the only way. The evil that dwelt among the twisted strands of his broken genome would inevitably catch up with him someday…and he could feel it gaining on him. The devil-may-care façade had kept it at bay for a time, but no longer. He had to resign himself to it…to a life lived always alone, always apart from the World that he could never touch, for fear of breaking it… 

It was the only way…to protect them from himself. 

Deep within, he could feel the beast laughing at him, as it threw itself with ever-increasing strength against the bars of its cage, and he tasted the acid flavor of despair against his tongue. 

He missed her already. 

For the first time in almost twelve hours, Alec moved. His every muscle screamed in protest…even his eyes refused to shift position, as though they had been cemented into their sockets. But he wasn't asking his body to move far…just enough to lay down on the sofa, settling onto his side, the worn fabric pressed against his salty cheek as its ancient, musty odor invaded his sinuses. He curled into a fetal position and closed his eyes, exhausted by his soul-searching. 

His last conscious thought, as he slipped unhappily into a darkness even deeper than the one he so feared, was a fervent wish for just one short sleep unmarred by dreams…   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  


The Ninja purred loudly down the twilit Seattle alleyways, swerving neatly to avoid the junk strewn about the pavement—the ragged debris of a brighter, more innocent world. 

_If I were a pretty-boy X5 with a massive ego and a serious attitude problem, where would I be when I'm skipping work for the day?_

Max's generous lips curved into a determined smirk as the answer came to her immediately. _Where else?_

The motorcycle steered itself unerringly toward Crash, with Max melded to its back as if the two were not separate creatures, after all…but a single, seamless body of steel and flesh. No one seemed to understand the bond between her and her baby—how it could make her feel solitary and free, yet connected… 

Anymore, it was rare for her to be able to savor that feeling. 

She laughed out loud for the sheer joy of it. The wind of her passing caught the sound like soap bubbles, sending the syllables dancing in her wake on a trail of fairy dust. _Amazing, how one little chat can make me feel so much better…_

Joshua would be alright—that part of the battle was won. Now she was out to settle the second half of her personal crusade to stop feeling miserable…which promised to be much more of a challenge.   
  


~*~*~*~*~*~ 

_The camera finally lost its view of White, as he was shuffled hastily into a waiting squad car. His shocking announcement still rang heavily in their ears…"this **is** a war…" The waifish girl gripped the mutant's shoulder hard, and the other man's hand even harder, as though they were the only things anchoring her in a world where the television didn't always bring news of doom…a world that was swiftly slipping through her fingers…_

_The TV coverage broke for a commercial, shattering the stunned tableau. Joshua remained seated at her feet, gaping at the pre-Pulse toothpaste ad chattering cheerily on the screen. The slump of his shoulders said that he wanted to never get up again, as though moving might make the last few moments suddenly **real**…_

_But Alec dropped her hand as though it burned him. He stood hastily, neither offering nor asking comfort…and refusing to meet her eyes._

_The loss of his steely grip was like being torn from her only anchor on a storm-tossed sea. Max was left floating helplessly in his wake, as he grabbed his jacket in a jerky motion and stalked toward the door._

_"Alec—wait! Where…" she began, then floundered as he spun tensely on his heel, spearing her with a burning glare._

_"Leave me alone, Max." His voice was quiet—deadly and desperate. The sound, and the look in his haunted eyes, made something inside her shrivel. She watched him turn and leave, and felt her world become that much harder and colder._

~*~*~*~*~*~   
  


Max sighed—a frustrated huff that was instantly snatched from her lips by the wind—and kicked the Ninja into a higher gear. Her baby growled obediently, and the two of them hurtled ever faster down the narrow streets, trusting the siren song of throbbing bass and cheap alcohol to lead them onward into the burgeoning shadows.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  


Asha leaned forward to rest one elbow on the worn surface of the table, propping up her chin with the hollow of her palm. Narrow, graceful fingers pattered an uneven beat against the milky skin of her cheek as she gazed across the dimly-lit main room of Crash, at the lanky man leaning against the bar. 

She fought a sudden, crazy urge to pinch herself. _I'm not dreaming,_ she thought with exasperation. _It's not possible to just dream up an entire afternoon. I **can't** be dreaming!_

_Can I?_

The whole day had begun to seem almost surreal, from the first creeping droplets of dull pink running up the bowl of the sky to herald the sunrise, to Crash's familiar dark wood and cheerful din. She'd caught the news broadcasts on Channel 3 last night—the creepy guy with the beady eyes was up to no good for the transgenics, _that_ was obvious—and made Logan's apartment her first stop that morning, to see if there were any big plans in the works that she could help with. 

She'd gotten the feeling that meeting Joshua had sort of sealed her fate, where her involvement with the transgenic situation was concerned. _In for a penny, in for a pound, right?_ The tension in the city was rising with every hour that passed, so the Manticore escapees were obviously going to need all the help they could get, just to be able to get through the next few days. And, after all…if Logan thought that all of Max and Alec's 'furry little friends' were worth fighting for, that was good enough for Asha. 

_And if joining the transgenic cause means that I get to spend a whole day with him…well, so much the better!_

The bartender returned with two mugs of frothy, golden liquid, trading them for the ratty bills in the man's hand. Logan picked up the beers and adroitly made his way back across the floor toward her table. It was still a bit too early for the regular night crowds, so he only had to avoid one or two staggering drunks. Depositing one brimming glass in front of Asha, he threw a glance over his shoulder at the semi-mobile patrons he'd dodged. 

"I guess for some people, it's never too early to get the night started," he commented wryly. When he turned back to meet her eyes, there was a good-natured smile on his face. 

Asha blinked and stared. Her drink sat untouched in front of her, drops of water streaking down the outside of the glass to puddle slowly in a ring at its base. 

Logan really was beautiful when he smiled. _It's been so long,_ _I'd almost forgotten…_ His cheeks were free of their frequent scruffy stubble, and her wondering eyes could trace every line etched on his skin by the rare grin. Most people's smiles had always looked lopsided to Asha, one corner of their mouth higher than the other, as if their happiness was always ever-so-slightly off-kilter…but Logan's smile was perfect and genuine. The corners of his lips curved upward with exquisite symmetry, pushing the muscles of his face higher against his cheekbones, so that his eyes narrowed into pleased rainbows and sparked electrically as though lit from within. For a moment, he looked so carefree…unbowed by the pressures of life, and _much_ younger than his thirty-odd years… 

Asha blinked as the amusement slowly drained from his expression, to be slowly replaced by…confusion? 

"Asha." 

The sound of his voice startled her, and she blinked again, hastily, her eyes wide, as she met his bemused gaze. 

"You okay?" 

She blushed, an embarrassed smile chasing the sudden pink flush across her face. "Oh…yeah!" She bent her head, only to notice the beer in front of her. She grabbed the mug and took a swift gulp as she composed herself. 

Logan raised one dirty-blond eyebrow at her as he sipped from his own glass. "You kind of drifted off on me, there," he commented wryly. "Am I really that boring?" 

"No! No…I mean, I was just…" She glanced toward the table top again, with a rueful grin. "You were _smiling_," she admitted with a self-deprecating shrug. She caught the confused blink Logan tossed her way, and went on. "It's good to see you relaxing a little," she said by way of explanation. "You haven't been much on smiling lately, so…it's nice to see it again," she finished sincerely. 

Logan eyed her in amusement as she sipped her drink. "Well, I guess that means we're both happy, then," he said with a teasing wink. 

She responded with one of her knowing looks. "Are you? Happy, I mean?" 

His grin faltered a bit at her question, and his eyes dropped. They both knew what secret sadness she was referring to. He gave the table an appraising look for a few moments as he thought about how to reply. 

"Yeah," he said finally, raising his head again to meet her concerned hazel stare. "I miss her, and it still hurts, but…" He paused and his eyebrows rose, as if he had searched his soul and was surprised by what he found there. "…it was just too much, somehow. It was all weighing me down, and suddenly it's gone." His eyes refocused, and he smiled at her again. "It's like I can suddenly stand up again, after being in a wheelchair." 

She nodded in understanding, pleased with his answer. 

Then her eyes widened, as he reached across the table to clasp her left hand in his right, his strong fingers curling tenderly around and between her more delicate ones, his thumb skimming over her knuckles in a phantom caress. 

"Thanks, Asha." His voice was slow and sincere, and warm like melted chocolate. 

She reluctantly tore her eyes away from the breathtaking vision that their intermingled fingers presented, to meet his gentle gaze with her shocked one. "Wha…for what?" she managed to squeak, as she tried with a growing sense of desperation to ignore the way the gentle pressure of his fingers on hers sent tingles down through her wrist and into her forearm, or the way his voice sent alternating droplets of chill and warmth drizzling down her spine, or the way… 

_Snap out of it, stupid! God, I'm starting to sound like a lovesick teenager…how much more pathetic can I get?_

Logan shrugged slightly at her question. "Just…for being there, being my friend. For caring." He was still smiling. 

Asha's discomfort melted away almost immediately under the warm glow of that beautiful smile. _Hell, even if it is just a dream…enjoy it while it lasts, right?_ She returned the grin, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. 

"Anytime…" she said, pouring as much of the warmth and sincerity rushing from her soul into that single word as she possibly could. _Some words just aren't big enough…_

The two blond freedom-fighters simply sat together for a long, long moment, holding hands across the table as they smiled into each others' eyes. Asha was utterly convinced that if there really was a heaven, it must feel like skin against skin when fingers intermingle…and it should surely be the color of Logan's eyes. 

"Hey, guys." 

They both started at the sound of Max's voice. Logan's fingers jerked from hers in a movement so sharp and swift that it stabbed into Asha's heart with an almost physical pang. She looked up quickly to meet Max's questioning gaze. _God, I probably look like a kid who got caught with her hand in the cookie jar…or something…_

Something unidentifiable flickered behind Max's eyes for an instant, before it was replaced by mere friendly curiosity…and something like resolve. She smiled briefly, then turned her head to scan the growing crowds gathered at Crash as she addressed them both. "Have you seen Alec?" 

Asha blinked. _Not quite the reaction I was expecting…_ She glanced over at Logan, and felt another pang as she took in the look of sadness and loss etched on his handsome features, as he stared up at Max's lovely face… 

Her heart screamed at her—_not fair, not fair!_—but she ruthlessly ignored it, to respond to the other girl's question. "Ahm…no, I don't think so…not since yesterday night, anyway." 

Logan spoke up then, a frown compacting his eyebrows. "Is everything okay?" 

Max turned back slowly to meet his concerned eyes. "Oh…yeah, everything's fine. I just need to talk to him, that's all." The look between them stretched for an extra moment…then another. 

Asha felt her heart crack and crumble beneath the weight of that long stare, and suddenly knew she had to escape. Yet again, she was being relegated to the position of the third wheel, and she wasn't sure she could stand to sit there and watch Max steal Logan's attention away—_again_. 

"Listen, I should go—" she began weakly, reaching for her jacket…but Max's voice interrupted her before she could make a move to stand. 

"No—I'm sorry, Asha," the transgenic girl said gently as she laid one hand softly on the other woman's shoulder, her eyes still locked with Logan's. "You guys looked like you were having a moment…I shouldn't have interrupted." Now she turned to meet the blonde girl's surprised gaze. "Please—don't feel like you have to leave…" 

Asha was shocked to see a small, pleased smile blossom on Max's full lips, and as their eyes met, it was like a handshake between newly-met friends. The look held for a split second, and just before it broke, Max's hand gave Asha's shoulder a quick squeeze, and her darker head nodded just fractionally in the lighter-haired girl's direction. 

"I need to go find Alec, so I'll see you guys later," she said quickly, backing lithely away from the booth, moving in time to the thick, hip-hop beat of the music. Then she turned, and disappeared like a wraith into the milling crowd. 

Asha let out a long breath. She had the craziest feeling…like she had just been measured, judged, and found sufficient. Like Max had sized her up, and given her blessing… 

_Does it work like that?_ she wondered idly. _Can a guy's ex-girlfriend really make it okay for another girl to go after him? Or is the whole world just playing with me?_

Asha came back to herself to find Logan watching her, an unidentifiable look on his handsome face. "Well," she said uncomfortably, "that was strange…" 

"Yeah," he replied absently, his eyes never leaving her face, as though his thoughts were just as far away as hers had been the moment before. 

Then that lovely smile broke across his face again, and she could feel all the little cracks in her heart begin to heal, as she basked in its sweetness and comforting warmth. A lighter, more romantic melody came singing through the club's speakers as Logan's hand reached out to her again, across the scarred wood of the table…and at his next words, she thought her heart might just stop beating entirely. 

"Dance with me?"   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  


_dear narcissus boy_   
_I know you're not really into conflict resolution_   
_or seeing both sides of every equation_   
_or having an uninterrupted conversation_   


_and any talk of healthiness_   
_and any talk of connectedness_   
_and any talk of resolving this_   
_leaves you running for the door_   


_why why do I try to help you_   
_to try help you when you really don't want me to_   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  


A practiced flick of her wrist on the Ninja's ignition, and the comforting rumble of the engine purred down into silence. Max hung her dark riding glasses over one handlebar, pausing to shoot a sidelong glance up at the darkened windows of Alec's apartment. 

_What if he's not even home? Where the hell do I look then?_

She shook herself, with a stern reminder that it was no good trying to puzzle out problems that hadn't presented themselves yet. At Manticore, one of their more inventive drill sergeants had called that tendency "dodging before the shot was fired," and had impressed upon them—in graphic detail—just how self-defeating a tactic it could be. 

It wasn't a failing Max planned to fall victim to now. 

As she mounted the first few steps, Max thought back to her encounter with Logan and Asha at Crash. She was still a bit confused by how _that_ had played out. 

By all rights, and if past experience was any judge, she ought to have been pretty pissed to see the two of them so cozy, not even two days after she and Logan had broken off their non-relationship. But oddly, she hadn't been able to muster any anger at either of them. 

In fact, before she'd interrupted, they'd looked…well, pretty happy with each other's company, and somehow, that made her sort of happy, too. 

Go figure. 

It was probably just her own good mood, after the afternoon she'd spent with Joshua, that made her feel so generous toward the blonde girl. After all, Asha had _never_ been one of Max's favorite people…but just then, she couldn't find it in her heart to make the poor girl suffer any more. 

_We've all suffered more than enough for one lifetime, I'm sure…_

So she'd left them alone with their smiling and their hand-holding. 

And damned if she didn't feel kind of good about that, too. 

_Could I possibly be any **more** screwed up???_

Then, suddenly…there was Alec's door, right in front of her. 

_Did I really just climb three flights of stairs without noticing?_

And really…it was a very nice door… 

_OH no—not doing this again. Knock on the damned door and get it over with!_

Her knuckles made a satisfyingly hollow _thunk_ as they made contact with the wood of the door, stained an almost unidentifiable shade by years of chipped paint, and mysteriously-colored stains that the fastidious feline in her didn't even want to contemplate the origins of. She listened, hoping to hear his annoyed voice calling out to 'hold on,' as his footsteps crossed the floor, coming closer, the bolt sliding back… 

Nothing. 

She rapped again, harder. _Maybe he's in the shower?_ She listened again, more intently, for the sound of water rushing through ancient, corroded piping. 

Still nothing. 

She finally gave up on propriety and pounded heavily on the door. It creaked on its hinges, protesting the abuse, as she called at the top of her lungs, "Alec! You in there?!?" 

A faint noise came from within the apartment, and she froze, listening with every fiber of her genetically-augmented being. She waited for several seconds, each one stretched thin and taut with suspense, for that first, quiet noise had not been a pleasant one… 

…there it was again. An indistinct moan, almost like a whine of protest… 

Followed by a louder, more articulate groan of pain. 

"Nooo…." 

It would have been inaudible to a normal human, but her sensitive ears caught the sound, and recognized Alec's voice…in pain, or in trouble. 

Or both. 

She didn't think, and she didn't hesitate. Taking a swift step backwards, away from the door, she raised one booted foot, and in a blur of motion, planted it violently against the solid wood of the door, right next to the doorknob. 

The old, much-abused wood never stood a chance. It splintered around the lock and burst open, sending her flying into the apartment like a mightily pissed-off dervish, ducking and rolling across the floor toward the kitchen to avoid any gunfire that might be directed at her sudden entrance. 

Nothing. 

Very cautiously, she poked her head up over the counter to survey the living room for potential hostiles. 

Still nothing… 

…except Alec, lying curled up on the couch, obviously asleep. 

The relief that surged through her at the sight of him, alive and unharmed, was followed almost immediately by a wave of anger. _How dare he scare me like that?!?_ She came around the counter into the living room, opening her mouth to yell at him, when something else registered. 

He might have been sleeping…but it was not a quiet, restful nap. He was twitching, his head rolling anxiously against the lumpy seat cushion, his fingers clenching and unclenching in tense, jerky motions. As she stepped closer, she was shocked to see that his cheeks were wet—mute testimony to the many tears he had shed over whatever horrors his mind was envisioning as he slept. 

It didn't take a genius to figure out what those horrors were. She was no stranger to the nightmares…the unconscious moments where Manticore still haunted her…where she would never be safe, and would always be alone… 

Max felt a sudden flood of compassion for the man before her—a beautiful, tortured man, who was obviously in more pain than he would ever admit to anyone. She knew everything he must be feeling, because she'd been through it all herself…but had she ever reached out to him, offered him the helping hand she'd once wished for so fervently? Only once—in the days after Rachel Berrisford's death, and even then, he'd kindly turned her away. 

_I shouldn't have given up so fast,_ she berated herself, as she crossed swiftly to his side, leaning over him as he tossed in the throes of his dreams. _I should've known he wouldn't accept help so easily…he's just as closed off as I used to be._

With a tenderness she'd never expected to feel toward the other X5, she stroked the sweat-dampened hair off his forehead with her fingertips. He seemed to calm slightly under her gentle touch, encouraging her to go on to say in a low voice, "Come on, Alec…just let me help…" 

She was totally unprepared for his eyes to fly open, wild and haunted…or for the desperate cry of "_No!!_" on his lips…or for the hand suddenly latched onto her throat with a grip of steel.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  


"…just let me help…" 

_Let me help…_

The two voices echoing in Alec's mind melded into a single plea too poignant to bear. He thought he was going to shatter again, with the sheer force of resisting that voice…the one voice that seemed to know what he was feeling, and cared… 

He wrenched himself away, reaching blindly for her throat…anything to get that terrible, lovely voice to stop…stop torturing him with the care and concern he could never accept, out of fear for her safety… 

His fingers closed around her throat, then, as his eyes refocused on her face… 

…his apartment… 

_Wait…this is wrong…_

His eyes flickered frantically toward the television, the over-stuffed chair, the greasy walls… Where had the forest gone? Where were the marks on Max's forehead? And more importantly, why did Max suddenly seem to be choking? 

_His hand on her throat._

_Wait…what…?_

He took in his surroundings…her wide-eyed face…his racing heartbeat… 

…and suddenly flung her away from him—but not so forcefully that he might actually hurt her. She bounced against the edge of his sofa table, her eyes wide and shocked, as her hand went reflexively to her throat and she gasped for air. 

_Oh god…I hurt her…_

"Max?" His voice was a harsh, rasping whisper…half-pleading, half-apologetic. He still wasn't entirely sure that she was real, that he might not still be dreaming. He reached out to her with one hand, the gesture both offering assistance and begging for it… 

…only to watch her shrink away from his touch, the memory of his hand squeezing her throat still too fresh in her mind to permit otherwise. His heart broke to see the fear in her eyes, then broke all over again at the pity that immediately sprang up to wash away the fear. His breathing was still ragged as he whispered, "Oh god…" and sprang up off the couch, moving away from her as quickly as he could on his unsteady legs. He wound up facing the ledge between the living room and the kitchen, both hands braced against it, stiff-armed, as he tried to get his trembling limbs under control. 

He heard her stand up behind him, and willed her to come no closer. 

_God…I hurt her…again…_

"Alec…are you alright?" One cool hand came to rest lightly on his shoulder. 

He spun away from her as if her touch burned him, laughing crazily, in the tone that said he had to laugh or else he might find himself crying instead. "Am _I_ okay?" he repeated maniacally. "Am _I_ okay—ha!" He forced another panicked laugh as he backed desperately away from her. "I just tried to strangle you to death, and _you're_ asking _me_ if _I'm_ okay!" He shook his head—maybe at her, or maybe just to clear it, he couldn't be sure. "Anybody ever tell you, you've got some really wacked-out priorities, Max?" 

She just blinked, and frowned at him in concern. "What's wrong?" She reached out to him again, one hand extended between them in a silent plea to let her help. 

"_No!_" he shouted, shaking his head violently and taking several more steps backwards. "Stay away from me, Max!" He hated the desperation he could hear in his own voice, even more than the sudden hurt that blossomed across Max's lovely face. 

But Max was remembering…   
  


~*~*~*~*~*~ 

_Ben looked up at her, a pleading expression on his face, making him look suddenly like a lost and scared little boy, instead of the grown soldier he wanted so badly to be. "Please—you know what they'll do to me…"_

_The look on his face begged her to help—a desperate appeal that he would not permit himself to voice aloud…_

~*~*~*~*~*~ 

_She saw the shocked look in Alec's eyes, as he realized exactly what that five thousand dollars was meant to pay for. For all that he'd only known her for a couple of weeks, he knew how important Logan was to her…how desperately she wanted to get rid of the virus that plagued them._

_So she watched him steel himself…forcing himself not to beg…_

_…except with his eyes. Those hollow, imploring eyes, pleading with her from Ben's face, making him look suddenly like a lost and scared little boy, instead of the grown soldier they'd trained him to be…_

~*~*~*~*~*~   
  


He had the same haunted, desperately frightened expression on his face now, that Max had seen that night in the lab tech's apartment…and that afternoon, so many months ago, in the woods outside the city…on another face entirely. 

That night…that expression… aside from the first time he'd walked into her cell at Manticore, that was the one and only time she'd ever looked into Alec's eyes, and seen Ben gazing back at her. It scared her, to realize that the exact same expression on the exact same face, could seem to say '_please kill me_' and '_please don't let me die_' at the exact same time… 

But in that moment, that look was saying neither of those things. There was fear there, and a desperate, pleading request…_stay away from me…_

It was almost as if he was afraid of hurting her. 

It broke Max's heart to see Alec so…diminished, so _humbled_ by his fears. For as long as she had known him, he'd always been strong, cocky, obnoxious Alec. Even if it was just a mask he wore, to protect himself from the cruelties of the World, he'd never before allowed it to falter in her presence… 

_No, that's not quite true…_

That night in the Berrisford mansion, when she'd saved him from the grieving father with the shaking gun, the mask had been cracking around the edges. His voice had been ragged, before he'd gone off to sit at the bedside of his dying love…and then, too, he'd told her to stay away… 

_He doesn't want anyone to see him like this,_ she realized suddenly, finding the idea strikingly familiar. _He doesn't realize what a comfort it can be, to get things off your chest…_

"Come on, Alec," she said gently, as if trying to coax a skittish animal. "Just talk to me…I want to help you, but I can't if you don't…" 

Alec's eyes were clenched tightly shut, and he shook his head violently from side to side, raising his hands as though to fend off her kind words. "Dammit, Max—can't you just leave me _alone_???" he cried out, in a frenzied panic. When he opened his eyes, he couldn't see her lovely face, or her gentle hands…all he could see was the livid red marks of his fingers, where he had gripped her neck… 

"_Why do you always have to butt into my business?!?_" he raged at her. "I never _asked_ for your help, and I _don't_ want it!!! Why can't you ever just _leave me **alone**_?!?!?" 

Seeing the fury in his eyes finally sparked Max's own temper, which she'd been holding firmly in check up until that moment. "You want _me_ to leave _you_ alone?" she said incredulously, her voice rising. "_I_ never forced you to stay in Seattle, or get a job at Jam Pony, or spend every goddamned hour of your _life_ around me!! Did you ever think that maybe my life would've been _better_ if you'd never shown up?? That maybe everybody would've been _happier_ without you around?? _Huh?!? **Did** you_?!?" 

"Yes…" 

She missed his quiet reply amid the hissing of the blood in her ears, and the growing momentum of her own anger. It was just like it always was with Alec…she hated the foul things spewing from her mouth even as she said them…but she couldn't stop. He just made her so _mad…!!!_

"I don't know why the hell I even _bother_ with you!" she raged on. "Every time I start to think you might be making some progress towards becoming an actual _human being_, you have to go right back to being a _complete _jerk!!!" 

She never noticed how he took several more steps backwards, in the face of her ire, to bump against the wall behind him. She never noticed how he seemed to crumple in on himself with every hateful word that fell from her lips. She never noticed the fresh tears glittering on his cheeks. 

"Tell you what—_I give up!!!_ I'm sick and tired of following you around, picking up the pieces every time you go off half-cocked!!" Max finally spat at him. She pointed one index finger, trembling violently beneath the weight of her fury, directly at his nose. "The minute you decide to grow up, and learn to care about somebody _other_ than yourself, let me know! Until then—I'm washing my hands of you!!!" 

With that, she turned furiously on her heel and stalked out of the apartment, slamming the ruined front door in her wake. 

As the splintered wood banged hollowly against the doorframe, Alec felt his strength give out, and he slid down the wall to the floor, sitting hunched up with his forehead resting against his knees, as he silently cried. 

He had never felt more alone in his entire life. 

And the beast only laughed louder, as it felt the bars of its cage weaken…   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_THANK GOD, IT'S DONE!!!!!!!_ No, not the _story_, just this infernal chapter that's been _rubber cemented_ into my head for the last week!!!!!!! I swear, it was like my car's windshield after one of those lovely Central Illinois winter ice-storms…you know the glass is under there somewhere, but you can chip at the ice forever and never actually get to it… :-P 

A hundred thousand heartfelt thank-you's, to everyone who's been waiting ever-so-patiently for me to get over this damned case of writer's block I've been wrestling with—can you call it writer's block, if you know exactly what you're supposed to write, but just can't make yourself sit still long enough to _do_ it??? 

Anywho…once again, I'm terribly sorry for making you all wait so very long for this installment. *sheds a few tears* I'll try to do better…really I will!!!! You guys have all been great, and when you say you want more, I want to give it to you!!!! :-) I hope this part meets with your approval…I know it doesn't exactly end happily, but give me another couple of chapters, and that will change. 

I'd love to be able to drag out the angst as well as some other authors (*cough* *_girltype!_* *_fergus80!_* *cough*), but there's just too much of the hopeless romantic in me…I wanna see the happy ending as much as you guys do, so I won't make you wait too many more chapters. Although most of the rest are gonna be _loooooong_ ones, there should only be about 15 in total… 

…though I'm already thinking that there's potential for a sequel. ;-) 

Okay, enough of my babbling! Please review, and thanks again for all your patience!!!!! :-)   
  


Coming soon!!!!!!! 

Chapter 8 - Utopia 


	9. Chapter 8 - Utopia

**Author's Note:** He he he!!!!!! Reviews are just _so_ damned much fun!!!!! ;-) Y'all are great—I'm feelin' the love!!!! :-) 

This chapter was a _blast_ to write—I love doing the wonky stream-of-consciousness stuff, 'cuz my own personal consciousness is just so warped, it's fun to experiment with just how weird I can get things to come out… ;-) Anyways, I don't want to give anything away before you read it, but be prepared for some pretty wacked-out stuff in this installment…and in case anybody gets _utterly_ lost, there's a bit of an explanation in the Author's Note at the end. Wouldn't want anybody to go away confused (well, at least not _too_ confused…)!!! ;-) 

Oh—one other thing, that I've been meaning to mention for a while now. If anybody wants to archive this fic anywhere, that's jus' peachy with me (hey, I'm always up for more readers!!!!). The only thing I ask is, if you're actually going to re-post the text of the story on a different site (rather than just linking to it here, like I know Donna Lynn, for one, likes to do), please check with me first. Basically, all I'm going to do is insist that you keep it exactly the way it is here....complete with Author's Notes, italic text, etc. 

Okay, I'll stop chattering at you now....please read and review, 'cuz I'm interested to see what your reactions are to this wacky chapter!!!! :-)   
  
  
  
  
  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

{{Spiral}} 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

  
  
  
  
  


**Chapter 8 - Utopia**   
  


_we'd open our arms_   
_we'd all jump in_   
_we'd all be heard_   
_we'd all feel seen_   


_we'd rise post-obstacle more defined, more grateful_   
_we would heal, be humbled, and be unstoppable_   
_we'd hold close and let go, and know when to do which_   
_we'd release and disarm and stand up and feel safe_   


_this is my utopia_   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


"So anyway, I thought we could start by figuring out who White's media contacts are…trying to get them to listen to the transgenics' side of the…" 

Logan glanced over at his fellow conspirator, and broke off his train of thought. 

Asha was asleep. She lay curled up on his couch, leaning against the cushioned arm with one hand pillowing her cheek, and her legs folded off to the side. 

For a moment, Logan just looked at her in bemusement. _So much for getting a little work done before calling it a night_, he thought ruefully. Not that he was terribly bothered…truth be told, he was rather tired, himself. 

But despite his own fatigue, he took a few moments to make the blonde woman more comfortable—tucking a blanket gently around her narrow shoulders, and making sure that the blinds were shut over the windows, so the morning sun wouldn't wake her too early. 

He tucked one of his mother's quilts deftly around her chin…and his fingers lingered a moment near her face. Without the constant animation that kept her face so lively when she was awake, Asha seemed somehow smaller…more delicate. Fragile, like a porcelain doll…something that would break if handled too roughly, if not treasured as she deserved to be… 

Logan smiled, shaking his head at his own whimsy. But he couldn't stop himself from running one finger tenderly over the curve of her cheekbone, as he whispered, "Good night…" 

She moved slightly at his touch, snuggling down into the blanket as a faint smile appeared on her lovely face. 

Logan moved reluctantly away, turning back in the doorway to whisper, "Sweet dreams," before moving into his bedroom, hoping he would have the same.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


Max coaxed the last, steaming drops from the pot in her hand into the almost-full bathtub, then turned and ran into a wall. 

Well…it might have been a wall, if a wall were capable of giving her such a forbidding glare, complete with caustically arched eyebrows and impatiently crossed arms. This particular wall was actually known more casually as Original Cindy…but at that moment, she was proving just as obstructive and solidly unyielding as any edifice of steel or mortar. _Those eyebrows really ought to be added to Manticore's list of Potentially Lethal Common Objects…_

The erstwhile wall shook a head of curly hair at her friend. "You _didn't_." 

Max's face betrayed not the slightest emotion, but she refused to make eye contact. "I did." She paused for a beat, then blurred slightly as she dodged around the immovable object in her path, making a break for the kitchen. 

"Now, _dat_ jus' ain't right!" OC called after her. The darker girl appeared in the bedroom doorway, leaning against the door frame and eyeing Max with a scalding glare, as she put another pot of water on the stove to heat. The silence stretched across the apartment like a taut rubber band, and Max fidgeted with the fluffy collar of her bathrobe, waiting for the inevitable. 

The stillness was finally broken by Cindy's quiet sigh. "You _know_ dat ain't right, boo." 

Max shrugged quickly, nervously. "Not my fault I'm revved up," she said in a low voice, deliberately misinterpreting the other girl's comment. 

OC rolled her eyes expressively. "Dat ain't what I meant, an' you damn well know it!" she shot back immediately, frustration clearly evident in her voice. "I'm talkin' 'bout you an' yo boy Alec—" She raised a hand in a no-nonsense gesture as Max's mouth opened to protest. "—an' don' you try an' tell me he ain't yo boy, 'cuz Original Cindy sick of hearin' that crap," she went on quickly. "You tell yoself whatever you want, but ain't no frontin' when you dealin' wit Original Cindy." 

One long-nailed index finger locked on to Max's nose with deadly aim. "_You_ gotta come correct on dis, boo." 

Max's eyes widened as she shook her head. "Hey, this is _not_ my fault! I went over there to _talk_ to him—I didn't do _anything_ to make him go off like that!" She stuck an experimental fingertip into the pot on the stove, testing the temperature. "I mean, he tried to _strangle_ me!" she went on indignantly, wiping her finger absently on a nearby towel. "Somehow, that makes me not feel so bad about going off on him!" 

"An' I bet you never _once_ thought t' ask 'im _why_, did you?!" Cindy's voice was harsh, and she shook her head in disappointment. "You know you my boo, but…_damn_, dat's cold…" 

Now it was Max's turn to sigh. "Alright, look…maybe I was a little hard on him," she said quickly, holding one hand up in surrender, as she used the other to lift the last pot of steaming water from the burner. "But, come on, this is _Alec_ we're talking about! If a day went by where I _didn't_ yell at him, he'd probably have a nervous breakdown or something…he'll get over it," she shrugged, hefting the sloshing pot toward the bathtub 

Her roommate's only response was a silent stare of mingled hostility and skepticism. 

"Come _on_, OC—I know you're really into this 'Voice of Max's Conscience' dealio, but can we reschedule the nagging session for tomorrow morning? 'Cuz right now, my bath's getting cold!" Max's voice was little better than a five-year-old's plaintive whine, begging an intractable parent for _just five more minutes_. She upended the last few gallons into the tub of steaming foam before turning her best pleading pout on her friend. 

_God help that Ly-dickhead brotha, if they was **all** like dis as kids…_ Cindy thought tiredly as she closed her eyes and brought one graceful hand up to rub her forehead. "Aiight…fine. Ain't no use talkin' when you got yoself set on that damned bathtub! But don' think Original Cindy gonna fuhget about dis bitch, hear?" She fixed Max with a final appraising look. "Yo boy may done wrong in th' past, but ain't nobody done so wrong they can't change for the better. He's proved time an' again he got yo back … now, if you ain't gonna return th' favor, maybe you not the boo I thought you was…" 

With that comment hanging pointedly in the air between them, Cindy turned and left the room. "Have a nice bath…" She flung the parting shot caustically over her shoulder, brushing airily through the door curtain. 

Max rolled her eyes. "Whatever…" she muttered sulkily. 

_C'mon, this is **Alec**…we fight all the time! This is no different…_

But here, deep down in the privacy of her own thoughts, Max had to admit that that wasn't true. Sure, they'd always argued, picked on each other…but there had always been an undercurrent of teasing. As if by unspoken agreement, they never crossed the line between verbal sparring and all-out character assaults. 

Tonight, Max knew, she'd crossed that line. 

She turned the memory of their confrontation over in her mind as she pinned up her dark locks, shedding the pebbly feel of the terrycloth robe and easing herself into the water's deliciously seductive embrace. _God…did I really say that to him?_ Now that she'd stopped fuming long enough to actually think things through, the familiar, sickly flavor of shame began to coat her tongue. _OC was right…he didn't deserve any of that… God, Alec, I'm so sorry…_

She sank lower into the soothing heat and bubbles, trying to escape the guilty spiral of her thoughts…but although her muscles gradually gave in to blissful relaxation, her mind could not. Cursed with the gene sequence that ensured a photographic memory, the image of Alec's face rose unbidden to float before her mind's eye. 

_I should've noticed,_ Max berated herself mercilessly. _I should've seen it…_

His reaction to her alone should've clued her in that something was wrong. But she'd been too angry, or too scared, or too caught up in herself to pay attention. _Just like always._

_Why does it always have to turn out this way with us?_ she wondered miserably. _Why does every conversation have to turn into a battle? Why can't we just talk, like normal people?_

The soothing water and the stress of the last few days were starting to tell on her, and Max felt her eyelids begin to droop. She considered getting out of the tub, but she was just so comfortable… Her mind felt light, drifting gently on the waves like a boat without an anchor, aimless and floating. 

_Stupid, broken world…won't let anybody be real…why is it so hard to be real? Why can't things just be simple and honest…_

It was her last semi-conscious thought before she let herself go, gliding smoothly into the fragrant, golden abyss of slumber.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


A flash… 

A young girl's face…a face under the ice…an open car door…get in…hurry… 

Logan's mystified face…looking out the window…a girl running across a roof…a statue in a box…writhing on the floor…this is too hard…come to get your knife back… 

Zack…led away…into a squad car…better get away…touching in front of a fire…that mission went sideways…do I know you I don't think so… 

Ben's pleading expression…begging…please kill me…don't let them take me… 

Alec's eyes…haunted green eyes…please don't let me die…a firecracker in the air…I'm sorry… 

Tears on his cheeks…unnoticed pain…god, I'm so sorry… 

Why can't it be like…   
  
  
  


_Max opened her eyes. She immediately shut them again. The light…hurt._

_So bright…so beautiful…_

_Glowing, golden…unearthly. Too much for her merely-transgenic eyes to absorb._

_She was warm. When she lifted her hand to her face, the swish of fabric against her skin was tender. A lover's touch…a phantom kiss._

_She felt calm, and could not decide why that shouldn't be so. Why it seemed so strange. Foreign. Like clothing one size too large…she swam in the sensation…floundered. Too free. Somehow wrong._

_Joshua was there._

_She didn't notice him before, but then he was there. He was smiling…and his face was wrong. Many-colored…broad strokes of cerulean intermingled with…_

_"Hey, Little Fella."_

_"Hey, Big Fella."_

_His face was a work of art. A painting. One of his paintings. A broad green streak across his nose. Blue splatters on one cheek. Perfect red isosceles triangle from eye to nose to lip and back again._

_"Joshua…you like a painting."_

_"My face. This is my face. This is what the World sees." Gentle eyes blinked rainbow lids. "I wear my own face."_

_"Yeah."_

_Broad purple grin, with two orange streaks. "You hide your face."_

_Max blinked slowly. "I don't like having my picture taken." She squinted up at him. "Can I take your picture? I want to remember your face."_

_"My face is always like this. You never look." Shaggy paw, a heavy weight on her narrow shoulder. "You hide your face." Paw lifted, waves behind her. "You all hide. Hide behind black stripes."_

_Max felt oddly reluctant to turn. No others…just me. She didn't want to see the black stripes…bars of a cell…bars with neon signs…bars on skin…_

_She turned around._

_The others sat on the floor, draped in gauzy robes. Grey. Same as mine. Same as the whole world._

_Joshua's face…broad strokes of cerulean…_

_Another world. A world beneath…behind._

_Hiding._

_Logan, Asha and Alec watched her. There was an open space, and they watched her. So she sat there. They made a loose circle._

_A circle of black stripes. Straight stripes…round circle._

_All their foreheads, covered in black stripes. Black bars. Barcodes._

_"Max…your barcode." Logan. Facing her, across the straight-line circle. "You have a barcode."_

_"Yeah."_

_"We all have one." Alec._

_Asha's head tilted dreamily to one side. "I can read them."_

_"I'll need a computer password to decode them." Logan shook his head._

_Max felt her forehead…nothing. But they all said it was there…how could she be sure? "Is this a secret Eyes Only password, or can you tell me?"_

_"I can read them." Asha was insistent._

_Alec blinked. "What does mine say?"_

_Joshua touched Alec's shoulder with a heavy paw. Long claws. Feathery fuchsia chin wagged side-to-side. No. "You have to read it yourself."_

_Max blinked._

_"Be careful not to break the mirror." Logan._

_Asha nodded wisely. "The cracks make it hard to see. Little lines are bad."_

_Alec agreed. "Then you see dead people."_

_Max blinked. "What about the disco ball?"_

_"What day is it?" Logan wondered._

_"The day before." Joshua's voice came from over their heads. A voice from on high…deep. He knew. They believed. "The day before it all began."_

_They all blinked at each other._

_"You are all strangers," the rainbow face went on. "Some of you don't exist. The World you are in is all grey, and you hide your faces."_

_Logan frowned. "You're not grey. You're colored."_

_"This is my face." Joshua nodded. "This is what the World sees." He inclined his head. Regal, like a lion. A wolf. Not grey. "I am not in the World."_   
  
  
  


_Then Joshua was wearing a black robe. It went on as far as all the Worlds, and there was no light in any of them. Not even any grey. The hood covered his face. The colors were in shadow. He had one arm out, finger pointing at Max. Max didn't feel calm anymore. She shivered. She was cold now, and Joshua's voice was loud. It boomed…echoed in the golden mist of the place. "You are The Only!"_

_The Only blinked. "There are no others. There is just me. There is no room for anyone but me. I am a child of the past."_

_The finger drifted to Logan. "You are The Knight!"_

_The Knight's shoulders slumped. He looked tired now. "There is nothing but the cause. I am not for me. I am for the World, but the World will not have me. I am the quest. I am a child of the now."_

_Alec looked at Joshua's finger._

_"You are The Pawn!"_

_The Pawn drew himself up, shoulders square. "I am not my own. I belong to the commanders. They use me to work their will, and their will is the World. I am a death-bringer, and I am not alive. I am no one's child."_

_Joshua finally came to Asha, and his voice was silent. No name. No answers._

_"I am The Unknown." Asha spoke quietly. "I am for the World and the others. I am not for myself. I know all others, but no one else is permitted to know me. I am a child of the future."_

_Then Joshua was Joshua, and his face was blinding…colors in a World of grey. "Talk."_

_The Knight spoke. "I can save you. It can be part of my quest." He looked at the Pawn. "You should be for you. I can save you."_

_The Pawn glared. "The commanders will send me for you, and only I will leave."_

_"I will leave later." But the Knight looked startled. "Don't you want to be saved?"_

_"The World is the commanders' will."_

_The Unknown was silent._

_The Only wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked gently._

_The Pawn watched The Only. "You are nothing without the commanders."_

_The Only rocked harder._

_"Can I save you?" The Knight watched The Only, too._

_"I am the only one. There are no others. There is only me. I am in the past, and there is only me."_

_"No." The Knight was serious. "There are others."_

_"No others."_

_"She is her World. She cannot hear you." The Unknown's voice was compassion. She turned bright eyes to The Pawn. "His World is his prison. He will not listen." She blinked. "I know you. You will save her. She will save him. And I will be here."_

_The Knight did not know her, and did not listen._

_"The commanders will conquer you all." The Pawn was sullen._

_"Touch me." The Knight reached out to The Only. "You are not your World. There is more. Touch me and join my quest." His fingers brush her forehead…_   
  
  
  


_Black lines touch…_

_Curving straight…lines in circles…_

_Worlds collide…intermingled with palimpsests…_

_Eyes open…Worlds are shed…scales from the blind…_

_Colors in orange, gold, red, and death…standing outside…_

_The World is grey, and the World is burning._

_Heat like hell in August. Dog days of damnation. Joshua speaks. "This is a new now."_

_The circle blinks, sweating. Heads bowed._

_Faces hidden._

_"The is the second beginning…this is the change." The painted face speaks to the heavens, wreathed in smoke and cinder. "For the former things are passed away…the players are remade. New faces…new hiding places. The Only has conquered the past, and the World explodes into color. One World!"_

_Black streaks…black smears…_

_Black lines fade…run…bars to drops…drops trickle away…black turns to grey, turns to skin, turns to words…turns to truth…_

_Is hidden._   
  
  
  


_The Only raised her head. Pressed her small hand into Joshua's great paw…was pulled to her feet._

_Hug._

_"The Only is now The Silent." The rainbow voice was sad. "She will not speak, for her voice is her own, and she hides. She will sing when the door is locked, and the window opens, and she escapes into a World that holds more than herself."_

_The Knight looked up…stood._

_Hug._

_"The Knight is become The Loyal."_

_The Loyal cast down his eyes. "I am for her."_

_Joshua watched The Loyal. His eyes were sad…kindly. "He will not die until she forgets. He will not live until she flees. He will be always, but still he hides his face."_

_The Pawn trembled as he got to his feet. His eyes were haunted._

_Hug._

_"Who once was The Pawn, now is The Lost." Joshua laid both heavy hands on the shoulders of The Lost. "His World is gone…he is now in the World, but it will not have him. He can make The Silent scream, or he can make her sing…but he is for him. He is beautiful, but he hides."_

_Joshua drew the three into a hug._

_Alone outside the huddle, The Unknown stood slowly. Her voice said that she might cry. "Unknown no longer…I am now The Unseen. I am for the shadows. I fight with The Loyal, but he does not notice me. I am a guide to The Lost, but he will not see me. The Silent watches me, and wonders. I hide, but long for truth. I will wait for the song."_

_Joshua's many-colored face smiled at the golden air. "Speak!"_

_The Silent looked on with wide eyes._

_"My hands are shaking." The Lost spoke timidly. "I don't know who I am."_

_"Won't you sing?" The Loyal spoke to The Silent. He touched her cheek, and he hissed. His hand jerked away…stung…burned. The flames of the former World still gleamed in her eyes._

_The Unseen touched his hand. "She will sing when you lock the door."_

_The Loyal shook her touch away._

_The Lost reached out to the Unseen. "Can you help me find my way?"_

_"I can." The Unseen took his hand and stood behind him. "I can help you, but you will not see me. Only The Loyal can see me."_

_"He will not notice."_

_"I know." Her voice was sad._

_The Loyal still pleaded. "Sing for me…why will you not sing?"_

_The Silent stared. Her eyes overflowed with speech, and no one could understand. The platinum witch stole her voice, locked it in a glass vial._

_Joshua's yellow forehead wrinkled. "You must cure her."_

_"What do I use?" The Loyal looked eager._

_Joshua grinned. "She must have the three-hour cure. The chipmunks can show you where."_

_The Silent shook her dark head. Her eyes spoke of sadness._

_She turned her back to The Loyal._

_She saw The Lost. She reached out, and he turned his head away._

_"No. You will be lost, too." There was pain in the eyes of The Lost_

_The Unseen laid tender hands on the shoulders of The Loyal._   
  
  
  


_There was a long, hard quiet._   
  
  
  


_Glass shattered._   
  
  
  


_The Loyal turned to look into the eyes of The Unseen._

_Lips parted…tongue curled…breath moved…_

_The Silent spoke._

_"I am already lost." Her voice crunched with disuse._

_The Lost looked at her. He smiled. "Then we are both lost." There was a light in his eyes, and it was not grey. It was not the color of flame. It was green, and it was alive. "We have found each other, so we are not lost. Do you know where we are?"_

_The Loyal stared at The Unseen, wide-eyed. "You are here?"_

_The Unseen nodded happily. "I have always been here." She touched his face. "I will always be here, and you will always be."_

_"Always."_

_The Silent smiled as she spoke to The Lost. "We are here. We are together."_

_Joshua spoke in a voice of thunder. "What once was lost, is found…who once was blind, now sees… Who once was silent—sing!"_

_Full lips parted around a single note…pure like sugar in the sun…sweet like friendship in the puddling rain…joyous like Fridays in the springtime…wild like the wind off the sea…enchanted like the fairy dust dancing between the stars…_   
  
  
  


_And then Max knew she was Max, and her friends had their own names back, and suddenly their faces were new to her, as though they had been hiding behind Halloween masks for as long as she had known them, except Joshua's face was still his own, still painted in all the gaudy colors of his own creations, the faces he showed to the colorful World that would never accept his own, and then Asha pulled Logan's face down into a brief, sweet kiss, and Ben was winking at Max out of Alec's eyes, and there was a single, sparkling tear on his cheek, and as she reached up to brush it away, Alec who was no longer Ben lightly kissed the tips of her fingers without even trying, and Max's eyes went as wide and as round as the World, and Logan and Alec both blushed bright pink into a World suddenly gone technicolor-crazy, and Joshua laughed out loud with a booming voice like God's and told them all to run along and play, and he'd see them again when the third beginning came along, and then everything began to dissolve into a swirling maelstrom of color and light and nothing was right-side up anymore because there was no up and no right side because nothing was black and white anymore in fact it wasn't even grey because the new World was a digital World in sixteen million shades of the spectrum and another sixteen million half-tones in between and it all spiraled together up and up and up until Max thought as long as I'm up here I might jump over the moon and hey wasn't it a full moon last week and why is it always so round when I'm up on the Space Needle andthenIthinkI'lljustjumpofftheedgelikeI'vealwayswantedtodolikeaslimgracefulswandiveintoachlorinatedpoolof moonlightandsunlightandstarsandtheWorldswirlingdancingspinningaroundthetoiletbowlandgiddydownthedrain andsuddenlytherewasnoairanymoreanditwasallrunningblendingfadingtogetherintosillycrazyhappywaterwithbubblesand_   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


Max's eyes flew open as she sat bolt upright. Tepid water and a film of exhausted bubbles sloshed around her as she moved—_wait…in the bathtub…bath…_

_Oh, yeah…_

Just a dream. Just a weird, wacky, and incredibly unnerving dream. A dream that somehow made lots of sense, and none at all. 

_I've **really** gotta stop falling asleep in the tub!_

Already, the details of the dream were fading. Something about strange names, and hiding things, and suddenly realizing that the faces she thought she knew weren't who they seemed to be, even her own… 

And an overwhelming sense of belonging…of love and acceptance. And now, knowing that it had all been a dream, she found a part of herself yearning to fall asleep again, to see if she could somehow recapture that delightful glow.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


Several sectors away, in the penthouse of Fogle Towers, Asha started from deep sleep into sudden, harsh wakefulness. It took her several seconds to recognize her surroundings. 

_Logan's couch…Logan's living room…Logan's apartment. Right. That's right._

"Wow," she muttered under her breath, her voice thick with sleep and disuse. "That has got to be the _weirdest_ dream ever…"   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


Two rooms away, Logan was also thrust forcibly into wakefulness, visions of a golden haze and a blonde woman's lips still floating with tantalizing unreality before his eyes…   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


It took twelve tense, even paces to cross the living room, from the bathroom door to the wall on the stairwell side. Seven paces from the TV cabinet to the half-wall that outlined the dingy kitchen. Three steps from the front door to the living room, bypassing the kitchen completely. 

There was nothing worthwhile in the kitchen, anyway—it had been weeks since he'd stocked up on anything other than alcohol. 

_Why does it seem like so much of my life is spent counting my own footsteps?_

The answer came back to him almost immediately, like an echo of the question, bouncing off the back of his skull like a lunatic pinballing back and forth off of his cell's padded walls. 

_Because if I didn't, I might accidentally remember…_

_Or fall asleep and dream…_

In a way, it was a relief to know that his subconscious could still produce something _other_ than the 'Alec goes on a homicidal streak and starts killing all his friends' dream. But as bad as the killing dream was…this new, golden one was somehow even worse. 

With the first dream, waking up had been a relief—a release from the torment. 

Waking after this latest dream had been like coming back down to earth after getting the ten-cent tour of Paradise itself. 

His chest still ached with want. For the first time…a place where he could be together with the people he cared about, where there was no pain or recrimination or discord…just acceptance and love. Friendship. Something _other_ than being entirely, irrevocably alone. 

The thought of going back to his life, after an experience like that, made his heart feel as though it were being squeezed in a vise…as though he'd been given a glimpse of a larger World, only to find that he could no longer cram his expanding soul into the World he once knew… 

And then the first dream came crowding around him, smothering him in its foul folds, suffocating in its obscenity. Alec couldn't completely suppress the shudder that rose up from the hollows between his vertebrae, making his broad shoulders quiver for a moment. His own weakness galled him, coating his tongue with a bitter cocktail of shame and self-loathing—_I'm a soldier, dammit!_

_But can you really be a soldier, without being a pawn?_

Why did these dreams, these scraps of unconscious unreality, these utter dichotomies of darkness and light, haunt him like gruesome spectres on a sun-dappled day…like any one of his innumerable victims, come back from an untimely grave, to quench its thirst on the spicy chill of his fear…revenge shaken, not stirred… 

_Why can't I shrug this off?!? Just keep telling yourself, Alec—it's all in your head…_

The image of the bodies in the woods rose unbidden from a deep pit of his tainted soul, to float before his mind's eye like a grisly fog. A faint scrap of golden music…the feel of Max's skin as he laid feather-kisses across her fingertips…the memories taunting him with visions of joys that could never come to pass… The fantastical extremes of sunlit heaven and cold, black hell were too much for his already-strained emotions. Alec's eyes scrunched shut almost involuntarily, and he clenched his jaw so hard that his molars felt as if they might pop out through his eye sockets. For a moment, he might have been a statue—a grim, immobile measure of the weight a human soul can bear, in the moment before it shatters. 

Then he exploded into frenetic motion. He flung a fearsome kick at the coffee table, breaking one leg away. He picked up the rest of the table and flung it against the wall, where it burst into splinters and broken planks. It took out a hapless lamp as it flew to meet its fate. The wall shuddered in its wake, plaster crumbling from the abused surface. 

Nothing in the apartment was spared. Alec attacked everything around him in a flailing blur of genetic perfection and overstressed nerves. This new enemy was a creature Manticore had never taught him how to destroy—this demon that wore his face, his barcode…that was written into his DNA, into his very _soul_…a forever-promise of all the things he despised and would always be, coupled with the things he yearned for but could never touch… 

None of his usual defenses could touch this adversary. If he thought he could, he would have tried to claw his own heart from his chest, to see that dark creature writhe and scream and disintegrate in the rays of the sun, the dark flame of its feral eyes snuffed into a thin trail of smoke by a World of golden glow…but that foul flaw, those few misplaced codons that argued with grim finality that man could _not_, after all, achieve perfection by the works of his hands…that dark tendril of flame refused to be dragged into the shimmering light. The twisted impulses that watched him with his brother's eyes were stubborn, and would not be so easily denied their due. 

So instead, he lashed out. Failing to slay the monster hiding behind his eyes, he created others. Behind the chair…dangling from the ceiling…under the bed. Everywhere he turned, a vision of the dream hung before him. He reached for it, clawing desperately to reach it, to take it in his hands like one of Joshua's canvases and rend it from its frame, flay it into unrecognizable shreds…to keep the guilt and loneliness at bay. _Oh, the loneliness…so much love in this broken World…but not for me…_

When Alec finally collapsed, trembling arms wrapped loosely over his heaving chest, amid the wreckage that might once have had the potential to become a home, he heard her gentle words again, as they slipped from between her full lips like thieves from an empty house…as clearly as if she were in the room with him…his hand wrapped around her throat… 

The one person in his life who _hadn't_ appeared in the dream. 

_Simon…I love you…_

His hands were shaking. 

_Alec…let me help…_

Another small part of Alec wept at the horror of it all, and prepared to fling itself into the abyss, to the tender mercies of the monster that crouched there, when a very small, very timid voice cleared its throat in his mind. 

_Wait a sec…_

For a few brief, crucial seconds, logic held its ground against the rising tide of feeling that threatened to drown him…just long enough to knit two broken threads into a single strand…a vital connection made… 

_They called me The Lost…but she found me…_

_It's not the madness that hurts…_

_It's the loneliness…_

Another wave of heartache broke over him at the thought, and he bit his lip to keep from sobbing aloud. 

_It's me…I'm doing it to myself…_

_Not poison…just lost…_

_Max…please help me…find me…_

Heedless of the wreckage around him, Alec staggered toward the ruined front door. He gave no thought to grabbing a coat as he moved out into the hallway, his legs becoming surer with every step he took in her direction. The many cuts on his hands burned and stung as he leaned heavily on the banister, making his way down the stairs to the street, but he barely felt them. 

For the first time in days, he felt hope rising within him. _Lost…but what's lost can be found. Max can find me, I know she can…_

The beast within raged and slavered, but he ignored its weakening cries as he staggered out into the gentle Seattle rain in the deep hour before the dawn. The silent singer was calling out to him from the World of dreams, like a siren savior… 

And suddenly, Alec no longer felt so completely alone.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Are you _completely_ confused now???? :-) If so, that's okay, for a couple of different reasons. First of all, I purposely wrote this chapter to be sort of on the inscrutable side. After all, if you can explain everything in words of one syllable, then there's no mystery left…nothing to be awed by. And…well, I just like being inscrutable. ;-) But also, things will be a lot clearer once I've written the next chapter, which dovetails completely with this one. 

_BUT_, I did promise you a bit of an explanation…so to tide you over until I can get the next chapter done, I'll clue you in to a few things. First of all, the big section in italics is a dream, just in case that wasn't clear enough. And yes, it's a dream that the four main characters share (somehow, I think Joshua wasn't actually dreaming the dream with them…his likeness was just there to serve a specific purpose). 

Basically, the premise I had for the dream was, for each character to explore their "history" within the show…to go back and see where they'd started, and how far they'd come to where they currently are. Then from there, they could sort of see where they ought to be going next. When they first show up in the dream, they've all got barcodes on their foreheads, and those barcodes can be translated into names—which Joshua tells them. The first set of names is supposed to represent the characters as they were, either during or right before the pilot episode. So Max is being devil-may-care Max (The Only), Logan is being Mr. Crusader Eyes Only guy (The Knight), Alec is still under Manticore's evil thumb (The Pawn), and Asha is (presumably) off doing some kind of S1W stuff (The Unknown). 

The second set of names represents the characters during the second season—specifically, right after the fire that burned Manticore to the ground, because that's really the moment that everything changed in the DA universe. Suddenly Max becomes Ms. Anti-Communication gal (The Silent), Logan turns into a sap who basically just sits around dreaming up ways to get with Max despite the virus (The Loyal), Alec sort of bumbles around trying to figure out how to get by in the World (The Lost), and Asha becomes semi-regular screen fodder at the whim of the writers…oh, and she seems to like chasing Logan (The Unseen). 

Then, when they finally figure out that they'll all be happier in the new, rearranged pairings that I'm developing for them, they all remember who they are, and 'shippiness happens, and they wake up. Hope that translation helps clear away a bit of the fog… 

_'SHIPPY ALERT!!!!!!!!!!!_ The next chapter will be bringing massive heaps of 'shippiness to both couples (sorry, no sex, just sappiness), a new (and hopefully intriguing) plot development for Joshua, as well as White's next move to up the ante on the transgenics calling Seattle 'home'… 

_BUT!!!!!_ Because so much has to happen in this chapter, I am giving you all _fair warning:_ it's probably going to take me a while to write, 'cuz I've got to get it right, or the rest of the fic will sort of fall apart on me. Obviously, I'll try to pry it out of my head and get it posted with as much speed as the story will permit…but please don't hold your breath. Purple is a very unattractive color on most people, and breathing is much more fun, anyway… ;-)   
  


Coming (not so) soon!!!!!!! 

Chapter 9 - No Strings Attached 


	10. Chapter 9 - No Strings Attached, Part I

**Author's Note:** Uh….hi. Yeah. Well…long time no post, huh? 

Yeah. ::sigh:: I'm really sorry. Obviously, I never meant for this chapter (well, half-chapter, to be precise) to take so long. But a lot has happened, both in the world of Dark Angel, and in the world of Tallera…it's been a pretty rough time, the past few weeks. What with the heart-breaking news of cancellation, my roommate's graduation (yay!) and subsequent departure (sob!), and a host of other things that really aren't worth going into, I've been about as far from 'inspired' as I can possibly be. 

So…a compromise. I originally intended this chapter to be much longer (or at least to contain much more…not necessarily the same thing, right?), but my guilt about not posting is starting to get to me, so I'm going to split my original chapter into two. So, here's the new chapter 9. I hope to get my writing processes rolling again over the next few days (aided, of course, by all of your loving reviews? I hope?). The other thing that ought to help will be the entirely unprovoked and unexpected burst of inspiration I had in the shower this morning…weird, I know, but it completely revolutionized my thinking on the plot twists at the end of this story. I'm now _definitively_ planning to do a sequel, and I'm _very much_ looking forward to writing the last few chapters of this… 

…but I've got to get through the next couple of chapters first. :-) So, again, with humble and abjectly depressing apologies for the extended wait, here's the next installment…enjoy. And please, don't ever think that I've abandoned this tale (thanks _must_ go out to Nevermore and Hobbes19 for their continued support!!!)—it's the most ambitious story I've ever attempted, and I'm determined to see it through! But trying to tell it when it doesn't want to be told won't be doing me _or_ you guys any favors, 'cuz it'll come out as a pile, steaming pile of hippo crap. 

Here's hoping I've continued to avoid that fate… ;-)   
  
  
  
  
  
  


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{{Spiral}} 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

  
  
  
  
  


**Chapter 9 - No Strings Attached, Part I**   
  


_I'll give you countless amounts of outright acceptance if you want it_   
_I'll give you encouragement to choose the path that you want if you need it_   
_you can speak of anger and doubts, your fears and freak-outs, and I'll hold it_   
_you can share your so-called shame-filled accounts of times in your life and I won't judge it_   


_you can express your deepest of truths, even if it means I'll lose you, and I'll hear it_   
_you can fall into the abyss on your way to your bliss—I'll empathize with_   
_you can even hit rock bottom, have a mid-life crisis, and I'll hold it_   
_and there are no strings attached to it_   


_you owe me nothing for giving the love that I give_   
_you owe me nothing for caring the way that I have_   
_I give you thanks for receiving—it's my privilege_   
_and you owe me nothing in return_   


_this is the only kind of love, as I understand it, that there really is_   


_and there are no strings attached to it_   
  
  
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


Logan had to take a moment to just breathe, while his higher brain functions recuperated slightly from the blurring barrage of imagery that had ended the golden dream. 

_Wow. That was…odd._

He closed his eyes, trying without much success to recapture the fractured memories… 

_A painted face…barcodes…The Knight…The Loyal…The Unseen…the kiss…_

His eyes opened wide again. The **_what?!?!?_**

He could almost still feel the gentle, sweet pressure of Asha's lips against his own, and a thousand remembered details, irrelevant and precious, began to bombard his senses. _Skin like whipped cream and silk…she tasted like raspberries…_

Suddenly, he had to see her. The urge struck him so powerfully that he vaulted out of bed, grabbed his glasses fumblingly from the nightstand, and had his hand on the door, even before the resounding echo of the thought had died away in his mind. Belatedly, he stole a quick glance downwards. Relieved to find himself relatively presentable—if slightly mussed—in his usual nightwear of T-shirt and sweats, he took a deep breath and let himself quietly out of his room. 

He padded softly into the living room, preparing to soothe himself with the sight of her lovely face, relaxed and childlike in sleep…except she wasn't asleep on the couch, as he'd expected. 

The night was old enough that even the city's many intermittent lights were mostly extinguished, rendering Asha a mere black-velvet shadow against the thinner blackness of the night outside the window, as she stood gazing out over the ragged skyline of Sector 9. _Velvet…_ his inner voice caressed the word. _Soft and lush, yet still firm…refusing to be crushed…_

His poetic tendencies had a way of taking over his thoughts at the most inopportune times…   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


Alec stumbled blindly through a grimy, rain-soaked alleyway, somewhere in Sector 5. He had no idea where he was…who he was… 

All he knew was that for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he had hope. He was on his way to Max. 

One trembling hand came up to swipe away a sopping, muddy-blond lock of hair plastered to his forehead, more out of habit than out of any real need to see where he was going. He was navigating more by spirit than by sight. He could have been halfway across the World from Max, and in this moment, he still would have been certain of his ability to find her. He was a man trudging painfully through an utterly black space, who was suddenly given a glimpse of a single, distant candle. He might not be able to map out his route, but he could find his way unerringly to that speck of brilliance…the single droplet of hot light in his entire universe of dark and chill. 

Max was calling to him…a beacon of hope in a World that had existed without it for far too long. _She can find me…I'm lost, and I know she can find me…please…please let her find me…please let me find her…_

The heavens themselves wept enormous, stinging tears for the lost and tortured creature weaving his desperate path through the dank and gritty byways of the broken city below. Blinking his eyes against a fresh torrent, Alec struggled onward, unseeing, driving himself mercilessly toward the tiny flame that filled his heart with promises of warmth and healing…amazed at the way that a fire so small and distant seemed to light his entire World… 

Resolute, he walked on, heedless of the rain and the darkness. 

Max was out there…somewhere.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


He knew he shouldn't expect her. 

When she told him "tomorrow," it was before his narrow escape from the sewers, before White was on TV, before everybody in the whole city suddenly got scared of things they didn't understand, all at the same time. 

Without really noticing, one hand drifted idly to the thin layer of gauze wrapped around the opposite shoulder. The roughened pads of his thick fingertips caught and snagged on the loosely-woven white threads. So white…like a canvas before the paint touched it…an unwritten book…a tapestry unraveling before its story could be told… 

He and Max and Alec…they'd watched White on the TV, and it felt like a bunch of lead weights fell into his stomach—big weights, like the black, saucer-shaped ones in the exercise rooms for the upstairs people at Manticore. And suddenly, "tomorrow" wasn't really tomorrow anymore, and maybe it was never. 

But that didn't stop Joshua from hoping…wishing Annie would come. 

Knowing she couldn't. 

Wishing she would, anyway. 

He kept remembering a song Father liked to whistle. Father never _sang_—he told Joshua once that he had too great an affection for music to "disgrace it with his own awful howling." The comment had caught Joshua's attention at the time, because although he and Isaac howled all the time, they'd never heard Father do anything of the sort, and the mental image that idea presented was a bit startling. 

But he did love to whistle—commenting often on the irony of a man who should've been born a bird becoming Father to a litter of puppies and kittens—and the song had been one of his favorites. It wasn't until one day Joshua happened to overhear one of the lab techs singing the song softly under his breath that the transgenic realized that the melody had words. 

There were phrases he didn't understand, and some of the words blended oddly in his ears, but the tune floated through his memory as clearly as if Father were standing next to him, whistling…   


_ The sunnelka mowt tomorrow…_   
_ bettcher bottom doller that tomorrow_   
_ thell be sun._   
_ Juss thinkenuh bowed tomorrow_   
_ clearza way the cobwebs and the sorrow_   
_ till there's none…_   


Joshua's problem was, the song didn't say anything about what you were supposed to do when tomorrow's blithely-promised sunshine was suddenly snatched away…   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


"Couldn't sleep, either?" 

She must have heard him come into the room, because when he spoke, she didn't jump. _Can't manage to sneak up on **any** of the women in my life, can I?_ She didn't turn to look at him, either, but shook her head mutely, keeping her eyes fixed on the hazy blend of midnight and distant orange city-glow beyond the glass. 

"I had…a really strange dream…" she said slowly, after a short silence. "It woke me up, and I wanted to…savor it for a while, I guess." 

Now she turned away from the view with a self-deprecating shrug. She wouldn't meet his eyes. "It just didn't feel right, to sleep any more." 

He inclined his head, watching her appraisingly as she shifted her weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Logan honestly could not remember the last time he'd had a conversation with Asha when she _didn't_ look him directly in the eyes. It was slightly disconcerting…and made him wonder. 

"Actually, I had a dream, too," he said thoughtfully. He found all thoughts of sleep fleeing, like clouds before a warm spring wind. 

Asha finally glanced up at him, and almost allowed herself to smile. His hair was sticking up on one side of his head—casualty of a slight disagreement with his pillow—and it made him look so much like an innocent little boy, she felt her heart melt… And, as she looked back down at the floor between her toes, she half-expected to catch a glimpse of him wearing fuzzy yellow jumpsuit pajamas with the feet in. 

At _that_ thought, a small smile did manage to gently curve her lips. Her limbs seemed to move as if of their own accord, and she found herself crossing the space between them with several slow, short steps. The moment stretched out like taffy, sweet and thick, with the surreal quality of movement seen through a syrupy liquid, as her hand lifted to smooth the errant strands of his hair… 

She stopped in front of him, and as her arm rose, their eyes met. She shuddered with the force of that contact, as though someone wielding a finely-honed blade had struck straight through her body and slashed open her soul. Her nails lightly scratched his scalp as she combed her fingers through his hair, gently soothing the tangles until they lay flat again. His eyelids fluttered at her touch, although the breath-taking intensity of his steel-blue gaze never wavered. When he spoke again, his voice was rough, but quiet. 

"Asha…" 

Her eyes widened even farther, if that was possible, and her fingers were still running through his now-tamed hair. "Yes…?" 

He took a deep breath, and it shuddered pleasantly in his chest. "I'll tell you my dream, if you tell me yours." 

She paused at that, blinking. Then she smiled, in a soft, easy motion. "Alright…"   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


_Damn shark DNA… Is a decent night's sleep too much to ask, just once in a while?_

Max heaved a defeated sigh and rolled out of bed in a single, liquid motion, her bare feet slapping quietly against the chilly floor as she made her way to the kitchen. The catnap she had planned was _obviously_ out—cut short by the rude interruption of that dream—so she would settle for the next-best thing. 

_Caffeine._

Her hands—hands trained in five different techniques for snapping a man's neck effortlessly—went through the motions of preparing a pot of coffee almost entirely on autopilot. _Fill the pot…add the coffee mix…light the burner…_ The familiarity of the task freed her mind to wander toward matters much less mundane. 

_Always barriers…_ She hadn't been able to stop thinking about the dream since she'd woken up from it. _The Only_, Joshua had called her at first. And later, _The Silent_. 

No matter how hard she tried to deny it, everything that was worth anything in her life always seemed to be about barriers. Roadblocks. Obstacles. Some physical, some imagined, some completely otherwise… 

Some barriers she attacked with an almost supernatural fury, as though their destruction was a commandment handed down from some Higher Place by a god she'd never known and didn't believe in—a god who knew that such tasks were better given to creatures created by less-than-divine hands… 

Other obstacles she avoided with a matching passion. On better days, she could come within a hair's-breadth of convincing herself that they didn't exist. On the not-so-good days, all she could do was gaze helplessly at their insurmountable height…and sink to the ground at their base, crying hot, futile tears. 

On the very worst days, it occasionally occurred to Max that Manticore might have handicapped her even more than she realized…that maybe what she was doing out in the World wasn't really _living_…that perhaps all she knew how to do, after all, was fight. That she was doomed to claw her way through her allotted years, forever beating down walls no one else could see and bouncing off of barriers that really existed only in her mind… 

But that was only on the very worst days. 

She hadn't realized it at the time, of course—how could she?—but it had all started with that first window. The shrill chatter of the shattering glass…the sudden rush of frigid air…the controlled tuck-and-roll onto a bed of fresh snow… 

Her first victory over obstruction—the one keeping her and her siblings in, and the rest of the World out. Gone, in one determined charge. 

_Presto…no barrier._

From then on, it was as if she'd found her calling in life. No matter how confusing the World got, no matter how deep she had to hide or how far she had to run, there were always more walls to break down, and Max relished every one of them. The first decade of her life had been regimented, regulated and strictly controlled. Her second decade was informally dedicated to undermining that military philosophy whenever possible. 

_Except…_

Except she never figured out how to fight the obstacles she wouldn't let herself see. 

With every package she delivered, the barriers between sectors of the city fell to shreds in her wake. For years, she had been hacking her way into secured computer systems, picking locks, scaling walls, cracking safes, and making off with a vast array of highly secured and extremely valuable items…all in the name of new parts for her baby, or more money to fund the search for her siblings. 

The barcode on her neck was a roadblock she skirted daily, an axe she dodged with every step she took into a World that did not want her, that would not permit her presence if it ever realized what she was. 

She always told herself that she didn't care. The World had not created her, so it had no jurisdiction over her. She just stuck her tongue out at the World, and kept right on breaking the rules. 

_Except…_

Max sighed again. _The Only._ Almost without noticing, she'd put the coffee on the stove to heat, and crossed the main room of the apartment to stare blindly at the raindrops coursing steadily down the drafty windowpane. 

_The Only…and The Silent…_

Some barriers were not so easy to break as the combination on a paranoid old man's luggage. 

Even when you can see them. 

Her two 'titles' from the dream were running around and around in her head, like a computer stuck in a recursive logic loop…or a cat stuck chasing its own tail. The longer she watched the words spin before her mind's eye, the more alike they seemed… 

_Two halves of the same coin, really,_ she realized, with a mental shrug. _Keep the World at arm's length, and you'll be alone all by yourself. Let the World in, but never really interact with it, and you'll be alone in the middle of a crowd._ No barriers broken, just redefined…relocated. The walls she had so carefully constructed around herself, the defenses she prized so highly…they kept shifting…shrinking. Moving inward. 

When she first made it out into the World, she almost instictively guarded everything about herself. Partly out of fear that Lydecker might find her, partly out of constant confusion. At the tender age of nine, she burst out into a World for which she had no frame of reference…a World governed by a multitude of rules that everyone seemed to expect her to already know…a World populated by a great many people who wouldn't hesitate to take their own pain and fear out on anyone less able to defend herself. Those first walls were long gone, but there were still days when she could recall them with fondness… 

Gradually, she learned how to get along on the outside, and the barriers drew closer…a desperate army forced to retreat ever-farther inward. She found a job…a motorcycle…friends. With each new connection, she was forced to expose more and more of herself…until the only thing left within the confines of the walls was her heart. 

And it steadfastly refused to budge. 

Ironic, that one of the barriers she couldn't seem to breach was the one she herself had built… 

_Really, it's no wonder Logan and I never found a way to make it work,_ she concluded sadly. _It wasn't that I wouldn't let him in…it was that I wouldn't let myself out…_

That last step… 

_Thunk-thump…thump._ She was startled out of her ruminations by the muffled noise of something bumping unevenly against the front door of the apartment. 

In less time than it took her brain to process the sound, she had dropped reflexively into a defensive crouch. Although a part of her realized that it was probably unnecessary caution—_White's boys would never be so clumsy…making that much noise before busting in_—she crept toward the door with the agile feline silence that had brought down so many walls for her. Pausing a few feet away from the thin wooden barrier, she turned her enhanced hearing on the hallway, listening for any telltale traces of a human presence… 

A low muttering…whispering…shuffling of feet. 

_**Definitely** not White._ His band of merry murderers wouldn't be whispering, for the exact reason that they might be overheard by their keen-eared quarry. _They_ used hand-signals, just as Manticore had trained its soldiers to do. 

Gradually, odors began to permeate her nostrils, soaking through the flimsy, permeable wood. Rain…alcohol…fear…and a tangy male scent that was, in her experience, unique to X5's… 

_Alec._

She braced herself for the onslaught of emotion that his appearance usually heralded, and she was not disappointed. What began as a breath of relief—_phew, not White!_—was transformed almost instantly into a silent laugh of embarrassment at her own rabid paranoia…which then became an indignantly defensive huff, as she imagined Alec's likely response to her edginess… The hot, comforting embrace of anger was quick to follow. How _dare_ he scare her like that…?! 

Max made a blurred grab for the doorknob, yanking it open so fast that its ancient hinges groaned in protest. Even before he came into view, she opened her mouth, a scathing comment lying tartly on her tongue.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


_It's not fair._

The last of the reluctant Seattle daylight had long since faded from its muted smoky greys into the unremitting charcoals of night, and Joshua was starting to get tired of moping. 

He contemplated his many canvases of Annie, his thoughts following their familiar route through his mind, the path well-worn by hours of thinking in circles. 

_It's not fair. She'll never be able to see how pretty sunlight is, sparkling on all the dust. She'll never see how pretty she is._

_But if she could see, she would have been like everyone—running, screaming. I would never have met her_

_But she wouldn't be in danger._

_But she'll never be able to see my paintings…_

Joshua shook his shaggy head, trying to stop the thoughts that spun and spun and wouldn't stop, like smoking Father's pipe around his motorcycle helmet. The shaking must have jarred something loose, because suddenly, he was having new thoughts. 

He was remembering…   
  


~*~*~*~*~*~ 

_Her fingers were soft and smooth, touching very gently over the layers of paint._

_"Blue…like the sky."_

_Her fingertips danced carefully over the splash of cerulean._

_He guided her hand lower on the canvas. "And this is green…like your eyes."_

_Her smile was shy and delighted at the same time. "It's beautiful, Joshua…"_

~*~*~*~*~*~   
  


"Beautiful…" He said it out loud to himself, his tone puzzled and his head cocked to one side, as though hearing the words would help him to understand…how a word and a touch could bring colors to life, for a girl who had lived most of her life in darkness…   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


They sat without speaking, in almost identical positions—heads lowered, elbows resting heavily across their knees—he, sitting in the chair, she, across from him on the couch. They did not look at each other. 

Finally, Asha broke the long silence. 

"How…how is it possible?" Her voice was no more than a whisper, stretched paper-thin with disbelief. "It isn't…was it…" She broke off in frustration, scrubbing her hands over her face, wiping away the last traces of the tears she had shed as she described her dream. "Dreams don't _work_ like that…_do_ they?" Her tone was pleading, the expressively despairing voice of one who sees her deepest secrets laid bare to all the World, and clings desperately to her last remaining shred of dignity…only to feel it slipping liquidly from her grasp. 

Logan, by comparison, found himself basking in an odd sense of…serenity. There was an inexplicable kind of karmic _rightness_ to the entire scene, that he simply could not defy. He had a fleeting idea that none of this was really about him at all—that he was just a random player, chosen to act out a drama conceived by an intellect born of another age, or another World entirely…that the story unfolding around him was at once a parable and a prophecy, both ancient and yet to be written. It was as though the Hand of the Fates had reached between the threads of the tapestry it wove, and tapped him conversationally on the shoulder…a swift, meaningful gesture of forewarning: _pay attention, now…this is important…_

Then the hand pulled back. The threads snapped taut, and reality returned to its former shape… 

But not quite…   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


Max's anger died like a candle in a hurricane, the instant she laid eyes on him. 

Sopping wet, his hair running down his forehead and into his eyes like a muddy waterfall, his shoulders shivering uncontrollably, and his eyes… 

Alec's eyes were those of a caged animal. A wild beast imprisoned for so long that all memory of the taste of free air has been long lost. A creature that cannot even recall _why_ it seems so desperately important to break free of its cage, only that it _must_ do so, or die in the attempt. 

Those haunted, hunted eyes clawed at the walls around her heart, and somewhere deep down in her soul, a small part of Max recognized the beginning of the end. 

"Max…" His eyes fell shut as though weighted with lead, and his voice was a shuddering whisper, almost orgasmic in the depth of relief it managed to convey in the single syllable of her name. His shoulders were slumped with exhaustion, and he appeared none-too-steady on his feet. 

She blinked her way past her initial shock, and her eyes widened as her brain finally began to process all the details of Alec's appearance. Max could feel her usual defenses trying to bring themselves to bear…a thousand taunting greetings whirled through her mind, and the urge to cross her arms over her chest was almost overwhelming… 

And she shoved it all aside—almost without a thought. _God…Alec…_ The haunted creature caged within his eyes found the one, tiny crack in the walls, and a tiny, verdant tendril of compassion double-helixed with fear wormed its way into her heart— 

—one of her friends was suffering, and that was all it ever took for Max to throw any thought of self-protection to the winds. 

"Oh, god…Alec, what happened?" She reached out instinctively to support his swaying form, slipping her smaller body beneath his arm, with one hand on his shoulder to guide him into her apartment. 

But she was totally unprepared for him to suddenly swoop her into the desperate crush of his arms, smashing her body against his and burrowing his head against her narrow shoulder with the shuddering sigh of a shattered soul…as though he expected her to dissolve into smoke at any second, and needed to convince himself that she was real.   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


He stood in front of the painting—an early one, Joshua #10—for a long time, his eyes scrunched tightly closed. An observer might have thought him a wax mannequin from an old low-budget horror flick…_Wolfman vs. Dracula_, or some such thing. 

He stood perfectly still, thinking about Annie… the painting… the dull ache in his shoulder…the words of that odd little song…Father… His thoughts wandered freely, until he realized that he'd been standing with his eyes closed for so long, his mind had lost track of his surroundings. He couldn't remember exactly where in the room he was standing, or which direction he was facing, or how far away from the painting he was… 

He was utterly lost in a World of relentless, featureless ebony gloom…a long, chill midnight of the soul, with nary a star to steer himself by… 

Annie's World. 

The fingers of his right hand twitched…flexed. Slowly, tentatively, he lifted his hand, reaching out blindly before him, groping for the finished canvas he knew must be there somewhere, because it had been there when he closed his eyes, and he hadn't moved… 

_There._ One hesitantly waving fingertip brushed something…a surface, ridged and uneven, with a cool, dry, and faintly slick texture. Joshua let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. That simple feeling of skin on canvas was an almost miraculous sensation…as if the World itself had smiled a rare and lovely smile, to remind him that he was not, after all, alone in the dark. The World was there with him. His head tipped backwards and his mouth fell open wide in a uniquely canine smile of delight. 

He wondered, for an instant, whether Annie ever forgot the World was there. 

His hand stilled in midair, then slowly retraced its quivering arc until his fingers once again met cool canvas. He spread his hand wide, gently tracing the intermittent humps and ridges of the paint as it swirled blackly before his closed eyelids… 

_…mountainous knobs of dried paste surrounded by smaller, oddly-spaced bumps, like pimples, where he had flung the pigment wildly at the canvas…_

_…smoother, gentler swirls, where he had guided the brush with care, each stroke culminating in curling ridges that rose three-dimensionally from the flat surface like ocean waves curling and breaking as they reached the shore…_

_…sharp forests of rough stubble, where he had jabbed and pounded the tip of the brush into the thick morass of paint, trying to get just exactly the right stippled look…_

There was no one directing his fingers as they explored the many-faceted canvas, no one to tell him which colors he was tracing…but this was _his_ painting. He had _built_ it, from the very first spattering of paint to the final stroke of his block-printed signature…and, to his amazement, Joshua found that he needed no guide to tell him one color from another. 

"Red…" The word escaped his gaping mouth as an astonished whisper, as one finger traced a long, sinuous ridge that laced and curved back in on itself, toward the right-hand side of the canvas. He _knew_ that line—had painted and re-painted it, in fact, as he tried to perfect its nonchalantly swirling shape—and it was red. 

It was _red_. 

"Red!" 

As his excitement grew, his other hand came up to join the first in 'seeing' his painting through Annie's 'eyes.' Almost immediately, it came across another smeared glop of pigment he recognized. 

"Green!" he bellowed, laughing. "Green…" His exuberance suddenly faded, muted down to a happy glow, and he shivered with the memory… 

_Green…like your eyes..._

_It's beautiful, Joshua..._

Joshua opened his eyes, blinking at the sudden, feeble light from the floor lamp—tinted slightly blue by his eyes' long disuse. He looked at the painting, then turned his gaze to the hand still resting on its surface. He raised it and turned it slowly in the air, examining it from every angle with an expression of wonder and delight, as if he had never seen his own fingers before. He felt like he had suddenly come to understand something indescribably precious and important. 

Even in a World of darkness, there was such a thing as color, and light…and in some ways, the blind could see more than the rest of the World could ever hope to…   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


Logan felt like he was opening his eyes for the first time in his life. Everything that had gone before was suddenly as immaterial as mist, as fleeting as a single flap of a hummingbird's wing. He was nothing but an infant, newly borne into the arms of the World, and as he opened his dewy eyes to catch his first glimpse of the creation that was to be his playground…he was blinded, struck to the core by a bolt of pure, fiery brilliance in the shape of a girl…a woman. Dusky eyes, like starry diamonds in a setting of milky-pale cloud, wreathed in feathery strokes of gold and amber…radiant from within, lit by the iridescent glow of a pure and loyal soul… 

An angel, sitting before him. 

_All along, she's been here…so true…so lovely…and I never saw…_

She was speaking, but he couldn't hear…his eyes were so intoxicated with the sudden glory of her that there was no room left in his mind for any of his other senses to intrude. Something about being sorry…not wanting to get in the way…understanding if he never wanted to see her again… 

_That_ snapped him out of his daze. _To never see her again…_ The mere thought made his throat ache with frantic longing, and he struggled to make her see…to show her how drastically his entire life had changed, in these last few seconds… 

"_Asha…_" His voice was breathy and strangled, as though her name had been wrung dripping from his throat like soap bubbles from a rag…but it was really just his rising tide of feeling…his soul running over, gushing exuberantly, beyond containment by any wall or barrier, foaming up in his throat like a tangy draught of liquid light, quenching a thirst so parched and ancient that he never noticed the lack it signaled… 

And the object of his adoration turned her eyes up to meet his, gazing up through her lashes with unmasked concern as he rose from his seat and moved around the coffee table toward her, with the air of a man who does not believe his feet are touching the earth. Her smoky eyes widened once again, as she sat hunched over on his couch, and he sank to his knees in front of her like a penitent looking upon the face of his god. 

"Logan, what…?" 

He smiled at her discomfiture, and it was an expression of such tenderness and affection that it sent warm tingles down Asha's shoulders. His eyes never left hers as he wrapped her interlaced fingers in his own, lifting her hands to his lips to press a warm, feather-light kiss to her knuckles. The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled merrily as he smiled up at her. 

"Asha?" 

"Yes…" The word flew from her lips on the wings of a whisper, as Logan uttered three quiet words, and Asha tried desperately to convince herself that she was not still dreaming…   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


"Oh, Max…" This second time, her name fell from Alec's shivering lips as a dry, wrung-out sob. If she had been anything but a transgenic, the strength and raw desperation in his embrace would have snapped her in two. As it was, she was sure she heard her ribs creak. 

She ruthlessly suppressed an almost unbearable urge to ask this man who he was, and what he had done with Alec… 

_Then again, maybe that's not such a crazy thought…after all, with Manticore, **anything** is possible…_

With gentle care and more than a little discomfort, she pried herself loose from the death-grip of his arms, backing up several steps to peer at him in bafflement. At the loss of her touch, his pleading eyes sought her own, begging for her comfort in a way that transcended all words, defied all challenges…eluded all obstacles. One look into those hurricane eyes, and all of Max's specious little doubts were laid to rest. 

_One less barrier to hide behind…_

Shushing the nagging voice that snickered softly in her head, she took one step toward him again, raising one tentative hand to smooth a soggy lock of hair off his forehead. He astonished her yet again when he turned his head to nuzzle his cheek into her palm, like a housecat begging to be petted. 

_Or like a tomcat marking his territory…_

Max fixedly ignored the little voice, sliding her hand down his cheek in a wordless plea for him to talk to her, feeling the knotted muscle in his tightly-clenched jaw. "Alec…what's wrong?" She put every ounce of her considerable will into an effort to sound like her usual acerbic self. The attempt was a miserable failure—even _she_ could hear the concern in her tone, and it that concern was becoming more and more frantic, as the man standing before her adamantly refused to act like the Alec she knew. 

"Are you hurt?" she went on helplessly. "What _happened_, dammit?!?" 

Those haunted eyes were roaming her face, as though they could imprint every detail of her features in their wild depths. _They really are the color of the ocean in a storm,_ the voice in the back of her mind realized idly. _Sort of green, but really more grey…and never still…always in motion, changing…_

She dropped her hand and blinked rapidly, startled by the small movement of his lips parting as he haltingly began to speak. 

"Max, please…" His nostrils flared and the muscles in his jaw shifted as he flailed desperately for the breath to talk to her. "I—I'm lost…please help me…" 

His fevered gasps were suddenly a stormwind, rushing in her ears…   
  


~*~*~*~*~*~ 

_Alec, huddled in Joshua's enormous embrace._

_Joshua speaks, and there are as many colors in his voice as on his face._

_"The Lost." Heavy paws on strong, shaking shoulders…the kindred clasp of a brother. "His World is gone…he is now in the World, but it will not have him. He can make The Silent scream, or he can make her sing…but he is for him. He is beautiful, but he hides…"_

_The Lost…_

_Alec, his hands shaking, his eyes haunted…_

~*~*~*~*~*~   
  


When Max came back to herself, Alec was still speaking—or rather, babbling dementedly, as if the sound of his own voice were the only thing keeping him sane. 

"…out in the World, but I don't know how, and I'm lost in the World…lost world…d'you know there were actually a bunch of movies named that? First there was a book, then a movie, then another movie, and another book, but the first book was much better, and they didn't have to bring back a dead guy in the first two pages to make it work, and…" 

Very slowly, and with exaggerated care, Max raised her hand again, this time to lay a single finger over Alec's lips, which stilled at her touch. Gazing frankly into the towering tsunami of his eyes, she smiled…and it was a smile that said many more like it were to follow. 

And with that gentle smile, The Silent was no longer so. 

"Don't worry, Alec…you found me." Her thumb traced a gentle line along the soft prominence of his cheekbone, as she gazed into his eyes and smiled, and spoke the three most perfect words he had ever heard, even in his dreams… 

"Let me help."   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  


Logan's eyes fairly glowed as they burned into her own, lit by the fires of a soul suddenly freed from its bonds and sent aloft on brilliant breeze, to fly into its golden home behind the sunrise. His nostrils flared as he drew in a precious breath, and his soft, pink lips parted, his tongue curling intimately around the syllables he so yearned to say…and as they escaped from his mouth, they flew with unerring precision directly to Asha's shell-like ears, where they became the three most perfect words either of them had ever heard, even in their dreams… 

"I _see_ you…"   
  
  


—@—@—@—@—@— 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Alright, if it's not too much trouble, I'd appreciate some feedback on the overall structure of this chapter, with the way I intercut the three scenes. That was a deliberate thing—and very much contrary to my usual, comfy writing style, in which I just babble until the scene ends itself. I was trying to do two things with it: draw some parallels among the three separate storylines, and make it clear that they're all happening at the exact same time (but in different places, obviously). 

Did I succeed? Did it make the story harder to follow? It is complete and utter crap? Inquiring author's minds want to know! So send me a review, and tell me! :-)   
  


Coming soon!!!!!!! 

Chapter 10 - No Strings Attached, Part II 


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